Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father
by Erik Thomas Stephans
Summary: Post Epilogue, DH. Dark!Harry. "What had he seen in those troubled, tortured eyes that belonged to the man who was once the only hope of the wizarding world who had likely become its greatest fear behind the scenes?"
1. All in the Family

Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father

Chapter 1: All in the Family

Rain poured down outside the window as Harry watched the sky for any sign of communication from his son, Albus. It was already the middle of the Spring rains where the Potters lived in England with their two sons, James and Albus, and their daughter, Lily. The children were off to Hogwarts, nearing the end of the year, leaving Ginny and Harry alone in peace, for a while, at least.

It was one of those nights that Harry couldn't think of anything other than of his children -- Albus in particular. The boy hadn't written in several weeks, when he normally wrote at least every other week, even if it was just a hurried note. Albus was in his fourth year already, James in his fifth, and Lily, in her second. James wrote more often than Al, but Lily topped them both with her bi-weekly updates.

While being a parent was tough at times, Harry was just thrilled in knowing that his kids would have parents, unlike him, growing up. Albus especially reminded Harry of himself when he was younger, except much more free to pursue his own dreams and take his own path. This was highlighted by the mere fact that Al was the only of his three children who sorted into any other house outside of Gryffindor -- Slytherin, to be precise.

Al befriended a number of people in his House that Harry was shocked by (much to the rest of the family's disgust and distain); most certainly, Scorpius Malfoy was at the top of that list. But Harry wasn't too worried -- after all, he'd made up with Draco Malfoy when Al was in his first year, writing home asking for permission to spend a week of winter hols with his new friend at the Malfoy manor. Needless to say, after a long winded debate with Ginny over the topic, Harry wrote Albus back, giving the "thumbs-up", so to speak.

This friendship between Al and Scorpius turned into a useful connection for Albus, at least, once Harry shared a particular piece of information with his son. Upon researching more about family lines and relations, Harry discovered that through the Peverell brothers, the Potters where the only living, magical family that was closest in relation to the Slytherin line. Of course, this meant, much to Harry's horror, that he was the head of the Slytherin family. At first, Harry laughed it off after he found out (_he_, the Saviour of the Wizarding world was the _Slytherin_ heir! -- what a joke), but after he'd told Albus, he soon regretted his decision in letting the boy know. Al found numerous books on Slytherin and books concerning the writing and times of the Founder in the Malfoy mannor, informing the bloody Malfoy family while he was at it.

To Harry's dismay, over the following years, he found himself at the Malfoy's with Al, Scorpius (when they were out on break) and Draco, researching the Slytherin line and such topics. It seemed that no matter what he said, Harry couldn't get himself out of this and the three Slytherins would somehow manage to convince him to stay -- after all, it was Harry who should be the one interested, right?

Following several years of tedious work of evaluation of old texts in Middle-English, Latin, and some in Parsletongue, Harry was enlighten that he was to follow the "Slytherin Code", now that he was the head of the family line. Refusal to do so would slowly eat away at his ability to do magic -- essentially slowly and painfully turning him into a squib... something that Harry wasn't all too interested in happening to him. So, Draco (ever smirking at the interesting turn of events) sent Harry home with the book that contained the Code so he could finish translating (since that one was in written Parsletongue). Since then, Harry was constantly invited over to the Malfoy estate (sometimes with Ginny and the other two children, but most often, not) and taught more about manners and all sorts of pureblood traditions.

All of this rubbish felt like torture to Harry the first two years of it, but since this last summer, these sessions hadn't been as bad as before, at least, so it seemed. Ginny commented "those bloody Malfoys" were beginning to rub off on him and Albus a little too much for her tastes. Harry wrote it off to the fact that Ginny wasn't always invited to come with Harry and Al. So what if Harry had better manners and knew more about the culture he lived in? It was better than living like a bunch of barbarians (or muggles, as so he used to call them) -- Ginny should know better than what she was accusing him of! Harry had begun to wear and appreciate more traditional wizarding wear than the muggle clothes and spent more of his time reading about wizarding history than watching TV or the like. It had never really been all that appealing or entertaining, anyway.

Finally, Harry spotted an owl approaching in the dimming light of his study, as he was coming out of his thoughts. Upon the owl reaching within two feet of the window, Harry opened it, letting in the cold, soaking owl, then spelling the poor creature dry. Once the animal was content, it gave up the letter it was holding hostage -- only Al's owl would be so... damn _Slytherin!_ Rolling his eyes at the behaviour of the animal, the wizard lifted the seal and proceeded to peer at the semi-elegant scrawl that belonged to his younger son and read the rather long note.

Once he read the last of the letter, Harry scowled, contemplating on what to respond to his son with. "Al, why must you be so difficult sometimes?" he muttered to himself, sitting back down in his chair, getting out his quill, ink and some parchment. "Of course I've been following the Code," the hero wrote, his own writing having improved a bit since his school days (of course, in thanks to Draco, in part), "I just haven't been following it so religiously as you are urging me to with every clause of the bloody thing -- after all, how would your mother and your siblings understand if I started to do some of those things it entails, so suddenly? Perhaps your idea of teaching wouldn't be so unappealing, since there's an opening in the Defense position. I'll consider it." Harry ended the letter with comments on Al's progress on his schooling, smiling to himself as he did.

Handing the brown owl a treat and the sealed and water-proofed letter, Harry opened the window once more, getting a face full of cold rain, slamming it shut once the owl was outside. Disgusted, Harry quickly vanished the offensive water off of his face, taking a deep breath as he sat back down, again, at his desk. Perhaps he should consult Ron or Hermionie about this decision? No, they'd be to busy with Auror and Ministry duties alike. Mentally going down his list of contacts, Harry soon found that Malfoy was the only, least offensive person that he'd be willing to talk about this with. He folded Al's letter, putting it in his robe pocket.

Sighing in resignation, the man got up and informed Ginny of his trip to the Malfoy's. He got back a grumble in response, which he shrugged off to misunderstanding on her part. After the war, Draco Malfoy and his family were much like any other -- add to that, Harry had saved Draco's sorry arse that one day, twenty-four or so years ago. Harry grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the flames, turning them green, calling out "Malfoy Manor" as he stepped into the flames.

Once arriving at the appropriate destination, Harry straightened himself, soon waving his wand to be rid of the dust and soot that covered his emerald-green robes. "Hullo," he greeted, grinning at Draco, who was used to the frequent visits by now, reading in his chair by the fire.

"What now, Potter?" Draco asked, nonchalantly, smirking playfully, knowing all too well how to get his formal rival to talk. "Did something that your cunning little spawn write offend the poor Gryffindor's head?"

Chuckling lightly at the intended jab, Harry shook his head in the negative. "I don't think much can offend my supposed 'Gryffindor' conscience anymore, after spending so much time with you and your lot, Malfoy. After all, isn't it _I_ who is the Slytherin Heir, not you?" he retorted with a smirk of his own forming on his lips.

"Clever, Potter, very clever," Draco admitted, shutting his book silently. "Did Al tell you about the opening at Hogwarts?"

"Yes," Harry replied, taking the offered seat across the fireplace from the Malfoy, putting his wand away inside his robes. "But, as always, at this time, everyone is busy, other than you, ever so conveniently. I seriously think that this is some sort of conspiracy against me," he added, with a sarcastic tone, the corners of his lips quirking.

"You should take it -- I'm thinking of taking the Potions position -- Scorpius has informed me that the professor is talking about taking a position offered at the Ministry -- better pay and benefits, apparently," Draco told the other, in all seriousness. "You've been wearing the Locket, I see -- and the wand?"

In response, Harry's hand automatically went to the chain around his neck, fingering the now-familiar feel of the Slytherin crest. "I am," he confessed, letting out the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, "and I got the wand back, yes -- you can't believe how difficult it was. I couldn't stand thinking about having to use that old wand of yours after I'd broken mine again -- if you'd like, I'll give it back?" Harry asked, pulling out the dragon-heartstring wand that was originally Malfoy's.

"I thought so, but I don't believe that you're thinking properly, Potter -- I've gotten myself a new wand, but you should keep it, for certain occasions where you'd rather not alert certain individuals of your possession of it," the Slytherin reminded Harry, using a demeaning tone, sneering at the green-eyed wizard.

"Thanks for being my voice of reasoning, Malfoy -- I suppose you're right," he admitted with a sigh, his cheeks showing a bit of colour in his now-pale face.

The Elder Wand appeared to be like any other wand, about twelve inchs in length and dark in colour -- but was far different when it came to power of those who were its rightful owner. Sure, Harry had repaired his old wand with it and re-buried it, but after a particular incident where it seemed as though someone seemed to be after the wand, aiming towards Hogwarts, the thought of the wand ending up in the wrong hands, Harry went and retrieved it. Since then, he'd keep the bloody thing close to him at all times. Soon enough, though, Harry had begun to take a liking to the ease of casting spells that the Deathstick provided him.

"I'm glad someone is your voice of reason, in contrast to all of those bloody Gryffindors you insist on hanging around, despite your better judgment," Draco scoffed, looking into the ruby-coloured flames.

After what seemed to be an eternity of silence, Harry finally confessed his true reasons for coming to Draco, in particular: "I need help with following the Slytherin Code," he whispered, almost ashamed of himself.

Draco's eyes widened, staring at the slightly flustered man in green sitting across from him. "Then, you're going to finally put aside all that Gryffindor rubbish and embrace who you've become?" the Malfoy inquired, almost disbelievingly.

"You know that you heard -- Al thinks that teaching at Hogwarts would be a good cover for doing this -- with the exception of Neville, of course," Harry told the blond, affixing his eyes on his hands in his lap.

"He is smart, I'll give you that," Malfoy replied with a dry laugh, looking at Harry, a tad concerned. 'Had the Boy-Who-Lived finally cracked? Was the world going to fall back into darkness?' Draco wondered, a small smirk forming on his lips, signifying his interest he held in this progress he saw. "You're serious about this, then," came the dark, foreboding question that cause Harry to become as white as a ghost.

Harry knew his decision here would be ultimately between being able to still call himself a wizard and damning the wizarding world, in a sense. Had he been faced with making this decision years ago, back before he'd become so well-acquainted with the Malfoys, the automatic answer would have been to save the wizarding world, no matter the consequences to himself. Now, however, was much different....

"Yes, Draco, I'm serious," he breathed, his heart pounding in his ears. "_'I pledge to follow the Slytherin Code completely and willingly'_," Harry recited, feeling the weight of the decision vanish from his mind and shoulders.

"You do realize what you've just committed yourself to?" the blond asked, in a quiet tone, breathless, moving to Harry's side, torn between awe and trepidation.

"I know this," he replied, sighing, "but the wizarding world owes something to me, for all that I've sacrificed to save it on so many occasions."

A small his resonated within Harry, whispering, "_Good, good... you shall keep your magic in exchange for your cooperation._"


	2. And So Ensues Chaos

**_Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father_**

**Chapter 2: And so Ensues Chaos...**

It'd been a long first day back at Hogwarts, Harry realized, letting out a long breath as he sat down next to Draco Malfoy at the Head Table in the Great Hall.

"Did you get tormented, Mr. Saviour?" Draco asked, snidely, barely turning his head to look at his co-worker as the man sat down, smirking widely.

"Whatever, Malfoy," Harry retorted, leaning back against his chair, slouching a little, knowing he'd be getting hell from the blond for doing so, soon enough. "Of course, all the students, except for my kids and Scorpius were all too enthralled to have the Saviour of the Wizarding world as their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Have you realized how ironic this whole charade is, Draco?" he whispered, as he sat up straight upon seeing the condemning look Draco was giving him.

"I've considered it -- why don't we talk about this in your quarters later tonight?" Malfoy responded, looking straight ahead, speaking comfortably.

After he'd said this, Neville Longbottom came and sat down next to Harry, starting up their own conversation, albeit, a little wearily. "Do you always have to sit next to _him_, Harry?" the shy professor pestered his old friend from school.

"He's my friend, just as you are, Neville. Besides, he's not as bad as you think he is -- under that cold exterior, he's just another helpless soul," Harry told Neville, grinning broadly, earning him a sharp elbow in the ribs. "Also, he's just another professor now, not like he could get his father to sack you, right?" Another elbow -- that was going to bruise, eventually, he thought in the back of his mind, leaving a mental note to pay the Malfoy back later.

"I suppose, but Harry... I'm worried about your relationship with Ginny, shouldn't you act a little more concerned, at least?" the Herbology professor implored, true concern for the other showing in his eyes.

"Don't worry, Neville, things will turn out just fine, trust me," Harry returned, looking over his rectangular frames, peering directly into his friend's eyes, turning his gaze away and sitting straight once more when Headmaster Fudge cleared his throat, causing the teachers to quiet down, but didn't work at all on the students.

Clearing his throat louder, then bellowing at the student body, ordering them to be silent, which only earned a scattering of giggles from the congregation, which eventually died down.

Following the rather pleasant dinner, Harry and Draco met outside of the ex-Gryffindor's quarters, near the Gryffindor tower. "Next time, let's meet by your rooms, Draco... I'm sure that people will be suspicious of me letting a _Slytherin_, of all things, into the lions' area."

"Understood," Draco agreed, following Harry into his rooms. "So, you've decided on an alter-ego, yet?" the taller man asked, looking at the rows of books adorning the shelves in Harry's entry room.

"Er," Harry froze, slowly turning to face the man who asked the offensive question. "No, of course not -- I've been thinking of much more important things, like resumes and the like, moving, and other things. You should know better... bloody hell, Malfoy, you've said it yourself: I can only do so much at once, being the Gryffindor that I am."

"Well, keep it in the back of your mind. How do you suggest you make your entrance, anyway? Gaining followers without acting too much like the Dark Lord before you... after all, you're the one to defeat him -- don't want to make the same mistakes he did, right? You have a plan, you have to," Draco said, staring at Harry's slowly paling figure.

The brunette grated his teeth together, clenching his wand which he'd pulled out to light the fire, scowling at Draco, Harry fought down the horrible urge to hurt the man. Why would he injure the man when he'd done nothing but try to help? And casting such a spell, this time at night would raise suspicions, and Harry would much rather keep his job.

"I'm sorry," he spat, still clenching his wand, angrily casting the spell to bring life to the before vacant black pit. "I really need to redecorate, don't I?" Harry realized, laughing darkly, still uncomfortable in his own skin, attempting to calm himself. "I mean, who's ever heard of a Dark Lord that had Gryffindor colours and symbols pasted all over his lair?"

"If one did, I believe Hell would officially freeze over and the world would come to an utter end -- after all, there'd be no need for Hell when the Dark Lord was such a stupid pansy," Draco agreed, smirking, knowing that this would be exactly what Harry needed to hear.

Laughter rang out, richer and deeper than before from Harry's throat (somewhat surprising Draco) running his left hand through his hair as he put away his wand, the anger dissipating as fast as it had came. "Thank you," he murmured, taking in deep breaths. "Well, shall we have some tea to pass the time?"

Much later that night, Draco and Harry were out amongst the trees of the Forbidden Forest, searching for some poor animal to torture and maim, dressed in thick black robes, the hoods raised, just in case they ran across centaurs or someone else in the forest, even though that was highly unlikely. It wasn't called the "Forbidden Forest" for nothing, or so Draco reminded Harry. At one point, the two professors came across a unicorn drinking from a small stream, shaking Harry deeply, as he recalled the time he saw Voldemort drinking the blood from another unicorn, cold sweat covering him, as he clung to Draco's shoulder.

"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," he muttered, just a few inches away from the blond's ear, suddenly terrified of what he had chosen to do. "We should go back to the school and just forget about this whole thing..."

"Are you out of your bloody mind?!" Draco hissed back, shaking Harry out of his stupor. "Just because you remembered something from our first year that time we were in the forest together doesn't mean you're weak or that you're even going to end up like that bastard!"

Harry wept, tugging on Draco's robes, leaning on the taller man. "I'm sorry -- you shouldn't have such a... faint hearted master," he whispered in a frail-sounding voice, burying his face in the black cloth of the Malfoy's sleeve.

"Harry," Draco said with a sigh, pulling the smaller man towards him, wrapping his arms around him -- he didn't know what possessed him to do such a thing, but if this was what helped Potter regain himself, it was what he'd do.

"...Dad?" came a voice from within a couple yards of the two, causing Draco to clench Harry tighter to him, almost protectively, looking around them. Spotting Albus and Scorpius, the elder Malfoy relaxed his grip, making Harry look in the same direction.

"Dad," Albus began, "... what the hell are you doing? Seriously, are you making out with my best friend's dad? Euch!"

"You weren't making out with Mr. Potter, where you, Father?" Scorpius asked, making quite a face at the scene.

Harry couldn't help but falling to the wet ground, pulling Draco down with him as he failed to hold back his laughter. "I'm sorry, Draco, once more... I've made you all so dirty," he apologized, getting back to his feet, casting a charm on the tall blond to clean away the mud, eliciting a raised brow and a red flush from Draco.

Clearing his throat, Albus called the attention back to himself and Scorpius. "Dad... what are you guys doing out here? I didn't... barge in on anything, did I?"

"No," Harry responded to the two teens, eyeing them closely, steadying Draco as he tried to reorganize himself. "You didn't... now, what are _you_ two doing out here?"

"...Can't lovers have a midnight stroll? You two are certainly at it," retorted Al smartly, hooking arms with Scorpius, who was all too eager to join in.

"Unlike you two, your father and I are patrolling the grounds, and thus, have an excuse," Draco replied, knowing the two's antics all too well by now. "And don't think that just because it's just this once that you'll get away with it -- I'm sure that you two have been here more often than you're supposed to."

"You two are going back to the castle this instant, or you'll be getting weeks of detention and no Hogsmeade weekends!" Harry threatened, glaring at Albus.

Albus just smirked at his father, turning to Draco, who was fully over the last blunder by now. "So, what is it that you dragged my father along to find, professor?"

Harry thought of something, as his son chattered with Draco, taking a few paces away from the group, noting that the unicorn was gone, now... like because of the ruckus they were making. "_Accio, Gaunt ring_," he cast, quietly, hoping this would work without anyone else realizing. Unfortunately, the two pieces came to Harry from the direction of the Slytherins.

"What the hell, Dad?! How did you know about the ring?" Albus reacted, pointing at the old, tarnished ring Harry held in his hands. "That was the friendship token that Scorpius and I shared!"

"Huh?" the wizard was stumped at what his son was say. "What is this nonsense you're spouting at me?"

"You mean you never had one when you were a kid?" Al asked, flabbergasted. "You really are as pathetic as I heard Gryffindors were.... Merlin, and to believe I thought you were _cool_, once."

Draco stared at the broken ring in the other wizard's pale hands and recalled Harry talking about some sort of ring being the last Deathly Hallow that he needed to complete the set. Maybe the legend was real, as Potter had been insisting upon earlier that summer.

"Albus Severus Potter, Scorpius Malfoy, you two are to report back to the common room this moment -- or you'll get detention like you've never had before," Draco threatened, pointing his wand at the two, knowing that this threat, coming from him, would work on the two Slytherins.

"Yes, sir!" the two chorused, then ran off out of the forest.

Once they were well alone again, Draco shook Harry lightly, making eye contact. "So, Potter, you're not as dense as I once thought you were -- but don't get me wrong: you haven't fully redeemed yourself yet."

Harry raised an eyebrow, staring up at Draco, imitating one of the Slytherin's many expressions, "Well, _master_, what's next?" he asked, somewhat sarcastically.

* * *

Thanks a million to Boogum and KouenTaisa, especially for the input with this chapter.

Dedicated to the Albus lover, Grae.


	3. Reasons Why

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 3: Reasons Why_**

"Well," Draco echoed, a wide smirk spreading across his pale lips as he looked down at the old, broken heirloom in his hand, "are you going to fix it, or not?"

Realizing what Draco meant, Harry pulled out the Elder Wand and cast a simple, "_Reparo_," at the rusted thing. They both watched, fascinated as the pieces knitted themselves back together and the rust and tarnish vanished almost just as quickly, making the Slytherin ring appear to be newly wrought.

"So, all that rubbish you were going on about before, while you were avoiding that Gryffindor wife of yours... wasn't all just a bunch of shite, then, after all," the Malfoy commented, grinning at Harry's reaction concerning the mention of his wife.

"Ginny's just jealous," he rationalized to Draco, scowling, as he remembered all those fights he had over the summer with Ginny after he'd told her of his decision to teach. Of course, it didn't help that he'd already been hired by the time he thought to even mention the whole thing to her, which just made things progressively worse between the two of them.

"Sure, Potter, you keep telling yourself that -- that and that you're still the Light's hero," Draco retorted, rolling his eyes at the other wizard's childish behaviour in ignoring his glaring marriage problems.

Harry shook his head and snatched the repaired ring out of the blonde's long-fingered hands. "Well," he continued, changing the tone of the conversation as he wiggled the plain gold band that symbolized his union with Ginny and replaced it with the Slytherin ring after assessing the best finger to put the bloody thing on. "It's the only on that it'll fit on," Harry told Draco, depositing the wedding ring in his robe pocket. "Are we going to find something to torture and maim, or what?" the green-eyed wizard questioned, with a slightly crazed smile plastered in his face.

Draco was too stunned by the display at first to say anything clever. But soon enough, though, he started walked pasted the ex-Gryffindor, pausing when he realized Harry wasn't following him, looking over his shoulder, "I'm waiting on you, now, Potter. Hurry up, or you're going to get your arse lost... _again_."

---------

Scorpius, on the other hand, was coughing his lungs out, as he grabbed a hold of Albus' robes, unable to go any further at the pace they were jogging. "Al," he panted, gasping for breath. The Potter nearly tripped when Scorpius stopped so abruptly and turned around, watching his friend, concerned.

"You coughing up a hairball, Scorp? Should I go get Dad?" Al asked, a thin eyebrow raised as he squatted down next to the Malfoy, smirking as Slytherins so often seemed to do.

"No, you arse!" he wheezed, clutching his chest. "How on earth... do manage to... _run_ like that?"

"Years of experience from running from Dad and your father, of course," Al returned with a shrug, nonchalantly.

"Besides," the blonde retorted, managing to gain control of his breathing once more, standing up once more, "I'm not a cat -- maybe you are, but I'm a snake," he boasted, smirking. The image was soon ruined by another coughing fit.

"Merlin, man, you need to get into better shape--!"

Albus was interrupted by Scorpius, who clapped his hand over Al's mouth, hissing for him to be quiet. "We better get back to the castle, unless someone else finds us, other than our fathers. They'll be relentless against us -- after all, we're Slytherins, no matter who your father might be," Scorpius reminded in a whisper.

Nodding, Albus followed Scorpius as they slipped back into the castle, unnoticed, so far. Clinging to the walls, the two made it almost to the dungeons before they saw a lit wand, forcing them to hide behind a statue, uncomfortably close to one another.

"Bloody Percy... think he'll find us?" Al asked, his voice merely a breath.

"Shh!" Scorpius hissed at Albus once more, pushing the shorter boy closer up against the wall, so the shadow would hide them better.

The two teens held their breath as the felt the beam of light pass over the statue, around them, slowly moving away. After a few minutes, they relaxed, Scorpius sticking his head around the statue to make sure the coast was clear.

"Is he gone?" Al asked in a shushed voice, looking up at Scorpius, who was still too close to him for his own personal comfort.

"Yeah, let's go," Scorpius replied, not daring to speak in a voice any louder than a whisper.

Once they got safely into the Slytherin common rooms, the two fifth years hurriedly changed and slipped into Scorpius' bed, shutting the curtains behind them, the Malfoy casting a silencing spell on the curtains. They looked at each other for a long silence, then broke into equally wide grins.

"Well, do you think your father's finally convinced Dad to follow the code?" Albus polled the pale boy, who eagerly nodded in agreement.

"What else would they be doing out in the Forbidden Forrest, so late at night-- after all, there's no Dark Lord to worry about storming the castle. So, the teachers really only need to worry about the students, not an external threat; anything that would be found in the forest coming into Hogwarts wouldn't be any students... See what I mean?" Scorpius explained his reasoning to his pal, ending with a shrug.

"Yeah," Al agreed, nodding, as he thought a little deeper on the subject. "But wouldn't that mean that the next potential Dark Lord is already inside the castle? I just can't wait until that stupid brother of min, James, and his Gryffindor buddies find out -- just to see those horrified expressions, of course."

"After all that stuff about the 'Great' Harry Potter never turning his back on the Wizarding world and such... to think that your father is really the Heir of Slytherin," Scorpius whispered, wondering if it was just the magic that caused Al's father to turn his back on the Wizarding world, or if there was something deeper that was at work.

"I never thought that I'd be in Slytherin, but I suppose it's because Dad's the Heir, now that I do know more. Before, though, I was nearly terrified that if I was a Slytherin, then Dad would hate me -- do you know that he told me before I got on the train, though?" Al paused for a second for a more dramatic effect. "He told me that the hat had _wanted_ to sort him into Slytherin, but he had to practically beg for it not to."

While this didn't complete surprise Scorpius, he was certainly shocked upon hearing this piece of information. "Whoa," he muttered, his mouth hanging open, not unlike a fish.

"If that's not enough," the black haired teen continued, smirking, his dark green eyes glittering behind his glasses, "Dad told me that even if I _was_ sorted into Slytherin, they'd have gained an excellent student, or something along those lines." With that, Al shrugged, covering his mouth with his hand as he yawned. "We should probably get to bed -- don't want to get detention for falling asleep in Percy's bloody class, again, do we?" he asked the blonde, winking at him as he slipped out of the bed and went to his own bed.

Scorpius remembered the number of times when the two of them had gotten punished for sleeping in Weasley's class, especially. Not only were points deducted, but detention for a month, on top of that! The Malfoy swore that the man was the harshest against the Slytherin students, even if it was the son of Harry Potter and his best friend.

Maybe if he found out the reasoning behind why Percy Weasley had such a grudge against Slytherins.... No, that wouldn't make any difference, unfortunately, at least, to why he got the detention, other than saving the information for blackmail, perhaps? That was reason enough for Scorpius to be interested enough to find out for himself.

There wasn't much he could do about it now, so he slithered himself under his green and silver sheets, realizing in the warmth they provided.

Upon being forced awake, Scorpius Malfoy pulled the covers back over his head -- he most certainly wasn't ready to be woken up, to be honest. "Leave me _alone_, Al," the Slytherin grumbled.

"Too bad, we've already missed much of breakfast, already," he announced, pulling the sheets off of the thinner boy forcefully. "If you take too much longer, you'll be late to Charms."

"Ugh," the blonde responded, rubbing his eyes, groping around for his own glasses, ignoring Albus for the moment, putting the frames on his face.

Once he sat up and the words were processed, Scorpius became suddenly more alert. "What do you mean that I'll be late?!" he demanded, glaring at his supposed best friend.

"I'm too ruddy tired of you dragging me down with you when you get into all sorts of trouble with the anti-Slytherin professors," Al explained, not looking at Scorpius, but, instead, at the door.

"Fine, fine -- just let me get dressed," he muttered, running his hands through his shoulder-length locks, getting out of bed.

"I'll meet you down in the common room," Al called over his shoulder, now strangely cheerful, grinning.

When the pair finally sat down next to each other in Charms, in the back, textbooks, parchment and quills ready on the table, Scorpius turned his gaze to Al. "Hey, do you know why that Weasley uncle of yours is so biased against Slytherin?" he inquired, in a soft voice.

"Apparently, in the war against the previous Dark Lord, Dad says that one of his brothers was killed in the fight here," the Potter responded, looking straight ahead, his eyes slightly dim. "I suspect that there's more than just that though. You know about how Dad and my Mum have filed for divorce? Well, I suspect that Uncle Percy's a bit peeved that Dad pissed his sister off enough for her to hate him. Honestly, I don't know if Dad really wants to get divorced -- he says he loves Mum still..."

"That's not the reasoning for the previous years of hatred, though..." Scorpius murmured, looking up as the teacher walked into the room.

"Good morning, class," Professor Smith greeted the class, setting the tone for his class. The man was about the same age as Harry and Scorpius's father, but seemed to act much less mature. It was a wonder that the man was a teacher, eve, in Scorpius' opinion.

If it weren't for Smith's younger son, Kaleb, being the Prefect for Slytherin, Scorpius wouldn't even bother with Charms. At least, the Hufflepuff head wasn't nearly as biased against Slytherin as the other professors were. Draco had told him that the House of Slytherin was once in better standing than it was in his son's school years. But, it seemed that those days were going to be long gone, once Potter, senior came to his senses.

Scorpius took notes half-heartedly on the rather dull lecture on the history of a charm he already forgot the name of. After long enough, class was dismissed and he got up to leave, catching Al talking in the hall with Kaleb "Raphael" Smith, who was coming into the classroom for the sixth year class.

The Malfoy waited, knowing that his friend wouldn't be too long in talking to the Prefect, whatever they were talking about. He sighed as he shifted the weight of the books to the books for his other classes before lunch in his arms, wishing Al would hurry up. He only had so much patience. After another few minutes, Scorpius gave up waiting and was off to Arithmacy with Professor Greengrass, his deceased mother's older sister.

As always, for this class, he sat in the front, well-prepared -- he'd rather not have his Aunt report to his father that he wasn't paying proper attention in her class. He would only go through that torture once in his life, thank you very much.

"Welcome back, Scorpius," Daphne Greengrass said by way of greeting him as he sat down. "How was your summer? You didn't have too much homework, did you?" she asked with a delightful laugh.

"Summer was just fine," he began telling her, barely noticing it as someone took the seat next to him. "My father and Harry Potter shared some stories about their school days and the war. Al came over and practically lived with us, as always," the blonde described, a small, polite smile gracing his lips as he spoke.

"'Lived' there?" Al retorted, his voice sounding skeptical. "If you'd noticed, my mum kicked Dad out, and I wasn't just about to subject myself to a bunch of Gryffindors' whims for another summer without Dad there," he replied, sneering slightly at Scorpius.

"Ah, that's right," Scorpius drawled, pretending as if he'd just recalled those rather important pieces of information. "But, I'm sure that you'd just rather stay with my father and me anyway, right?"

"Whatever you want to think, Malfoy," Al snapped back, a wide grin spreading over his lips.

"Boys, please control yourselves in from of the other students," Professor Greengrass reprimanded them for their banter, somewhat jokingly. "Now, Scorpius, I'd like to speak with you after class -- alone, if you will," she told him, looking at Albus as she did.

And, a few more minutes later, class began. The two Slytherin fifth years were as attentive as always, and of course, handed in their summer homework, as always. While Scorpius wondered what his Aunt was going to talk to him about _alone_, he had not even the beginnings of any good ideas on the topic, other than the fact that she didn't want Al to hear it.

"Scorpius, please stay -- class dismissed. Be sure to have pages 170 to 190 read for the next class," the blue-eyed Professor called to the class upon the bell ringing.

Once they were alone, Daphne spelled the doors locked and cast some anti-spying charms on the door, not putting it past the students to not spy on her and the Malfoy. "I wanted to know if you've heard of the rumours of why Ginny Potter is leaving her husband, your friend's father," she questioned, her voice gentle and almost motherly.

"No, I haven't the slightest," Scorpius told her, honestly, curious to why she wasn't talking to _Albus_ about this, but to him.

"It seems that the most popular rumour," the professor began slowly, seeming to be reviled of the mere thought of the rumour being true. "Is that Ginny found out what was going on between Potter and your father. Do you have any idea what this might be about?"

The Malfoy couldn't help but laughing at the ridiculousness of the issue. Sure, there _was_ that incident in the forest, but he and Albus had both some suspicions regarding that situation and what it was all about. "My father and professor Potter _do_ tend to spend a good deal of time together, but I don't think that I have any reason to believe that they're _gay_ together, Professor," he replied hotly, rather annoyed.

Honestly! This woman just hoped that his father was still available, most likely -- she'd always asked him a thousand questions every year about how his father was doing.

"I see," she returned, going into deep thought, "you may go."

Scorpius breathed a sigh of relief once he stepped out of the doors to the Arithmacy classroom, looking around to spot his friend... wait until Al heard about that bloody rumour, _then_ the two of them would come under suspicion, too. Great, Scorpius thought to himself, raking his hand through his hair, frustrated.

---------

Thank you to Grae, again, for the ideas, and to Moogle for some inspiration.

My dear readers, I would appreciate it greatly to hear what you think about all of this.


	4. Raising the Question

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

_Chapter 4: Raising the Question_

He was looking at the Dark Lord's hooded face, which filled him with such an unbelievable amount of rage. Harry quickly dodged to the side and the bloody bastard copied him, raising his wand, pointing the offending thing directly at his heart, smirking widely.

"Well, aren't you going to try and kill me, Potter?" the voice taunted, much different from the voice Harry remembered coming from the man during the last battle. "What a coward – you still haven't drawn your wand – and you call yourself a Gryffindor, _still_, after socializing with that Malfoy for so long?"

"You…" he seethed, baring his teeth. This seemed to only further provoke the Dark Lord's humour, causing the man to merely grin even wider, appearing to bordering on insanity. With a surge of pure hatred, Harry readied his wand, shouting a harsh, "_Crucio!_" at the offensive man.

In turn, the Dark Lord seemed to easily dodge the nasty-looking curse, the black robes swept aside as well, as not to get singed or mutilated. He stood, his head held high, towering over Harry, his arrogance radiating off of his body in waves, still, despite Harry's further attempts. Finally, he landed a weakly called, "_Sectumsempra_" on the man, which barely caught the hem of his hood, instead of his face.

Of what Harry could see of the Dark Lord's face appeared to be cracking, strangely, spreading slowly, at least, of what he could see. The man – no, the monstrous _thing_ – standing opposite of him cackled, his voice deep, much unlike the high-pitched laugh of Tom Riddle, as he pulled down the hood, then proceeding to pull the cloak off of himself, tossing it to the side, not even bothering to take his searing crimson gaze away from Harry's eyes. The cruel smile was accented by a black goatee, the face framed by long, wavy black locks, a pair of familiar-looking glasses perched on his nose, and… and, that _scar_!

"_No!_" the Saviour of the wizarding world breathed, taking a step back, realizing what was happening, at last. "You can't be – I'd never be nearly as cruel as you!" he yelled, his vision becoming blind, as tears of anger filled his eyes. Harry tugged at his chin-length hair, looking away, frantically, anywhere but up at the reflection, watching as his world of illusion crumbled away, revealing a pile of bloodless, ghastly pale bodies surrounding him, at his feet. The sight caused him to go rigid, shaking helplessly as a chill spread through his body, forcing his head to back up to peer at the insane beast before him. "What did you make me do?" he demanded, almost pleadingly, watching as the fractured mirror was beginning to fall apart, as well.

"You've become who you've always yearned to be – someone free from the constraints of the society you live in; free from the need to do what everyone else thinks you should do. After all, with Draco at our side, we can do just about anything, can't we?" the voice replied, the smile twisting even further.

Harry couldn't stand this anymore, screaming, not caring what he sounded like – after all, it was just him and those motionless bodies of the ones he thought he loved, twisted in evidence of torture, even after their death, the maniacal laughter ringing in his ears.

Suddenly, it was cold and dark, finding himself surrounded by trees of the Forbidden Forrest. Harry looked around himself, his eyes growing accustomed to the darkness once more as sweat poured down his face. At first, all he heard was the sound of his laboured breathing, but soon enough, hurried steps drew closer to him, drawing his attention to the approaching specter dressed in all black, a flash of silvery hair showing beneath the hood (which he ignored in his growing horror).

"What's happened?" the blonde asked, kneeling next to Harry, who was perched up against a tree.

"Get away from me, you devil!" he screamed, pushing the ghost from his dream away from himself, onto the ground, pulling the Elder Wand out from the inside of his own robes, pointing it unsteadily at the man, who was slowly backing away from him. "Don't you _dare_ touch me again," Harry hissed, pushing himself up into a standing position, using the tree to stabilize his faltering legs. "Understand me? What have you done to me? Answer me straight, this time, you monster!"

"Please, Harry, you're not thinking properly," the thing said, trying to bargain with the enraged Potter. "Put the wand down – I didn't do anything to you – you're being hysterical."

"Don't you _dare_," he breathed, sneering down at the offensive thing before him, which was wreathing on the ground. "You're not even worth enough to call me that after what you've done to me," Harry spat, his eyes gleaming in his all-consuming rage.

"I'm sorry for whatever I've done… just, please, don't do anything you're going to regret," the wavering voice begged, crawling closer, inch-by-inch, to Harry, praying that his touch would bring the Slytherin Heir back to his senses.

"What did I _tell_ you?" he muttered, his voice much more stern and confidant than before, the hand holding the wand suddenly ceasing to tremble. Shouting a disarming spell at the other man, Harry gained immense satisfaction from the crunch of the other's ribs crushing against a large tree across the clearing, an insane glimmer appearing in his eyes, his lips contorting into a horrible smile.

"Please, Harry…" the voice pleaded, weaker than before, its breathing coming in small, pain-filled gasps, hot tears rolling down its face, the pale hands clutching at its sides.

Grinding his teeth, the black-haired wizard barked out another hissed Cruciatus curse, the long, powerful wand reacting splendidly to his orders, causing the ghoul to scream much louder than that deer had whined, earlier that evening. Harry bathed in the pure, unadulterated pleasure that flooded through him for those few seconds that he held the curse on the wreathing creature, whose hood fell down off of its face.

Once the painful curse was lifted, Harry moved closer to inspect the thing, looking down in horror as he came to know what he'd done. "Oh, _Merlin_," he breathed, tears stinging his eyes, now, soon causing him to lose control over his over-powering emotions, dropping down onto his knees, moaning, "Oh, Draco… _Draco_, what… have I… done to you?"

"I'm sorry, Harry," the blonde gasped, his hands shaking horribly as he reached up to caress the Heir's face. "Whatever… I've done, would you… forgive me?" he cried, his voice sounding painfully broken in Harry's ears.

"Tell me what to do, Draco – how do I fix what I've done?" he asked, demanding the Malfoy to answer him. Harry knew that if he didn't repair Draco's ribs, soon, he'd be beyond any sort of repair, due to the internal bleeding. At least, to his knowledge, if he didn't do anything now, it seemed that Draco would likely die in his arms in a few hours, at the maximum. He didn't have the slightest idea about how to explain what happened, if the man did end up dead.

Draco managed to grunt out a healing spell that he remembered from the days he was in quidditch, relaying the information to Harry, telling him that if he cast the spell properly, it'd heal the broken bones. And so, Harry nodded, biting his bottom lip hard, puncturing the skin, poising his wand, and after much deliberation, he cast the healing spell, eliciting a long-awaited sigh of relief from Draco.

"You did well," Draco told him, pride evident in his tired voice as he relaxed against the tree once more. "Thank you, Harry," he whispered, closing his eyes, his breathing now coming in evenly, seeming to fall slowly into a deep sleep.

Now what was he going to do? Harry wondered to himself as he sat down next to his friend. He was emotionally broken and weak, although there was still that lingering of pleasure that had come from the casting of the Unforgivable what seemed to be hours ago, now. Harry didn't really have the physical strength to walk alongside Draco's floating body, even if he did have the magical strength to transport his friend.

It was rather ironic that the "Heir of Slytherin" was resenting what he'd done to his friend – even the fact that he had a "friend" was something he never thought of a Slytherin who was aspiring to be the next Dark Lord would have. He took Tom Riddle into account with that, since Dumbledore, himself, had hinted that Riddle's supposed "friends" were merely pawns and servants for his goals, using them, not unlike Grindelwald, with Dumbledore, ever so long ago. Harry's thoughts soon drifted to the man he was now declared the heir to: Salazar Slytherin. Hadn't he heard once before that Slytherin used to be good friends with Godric Gryffindor? Where had he heard that, to begin with?

Probably around the time that people were beginning to spread those horrible rumours about him being the Heir of Slytherin, in the beginning, when he hadn't been – the self-made Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort had been the Heir, then. How silly everything became, once he found out the truth, after Tom bloody Riddle died, killed by the backlash of his own spell, all because of the simple fact that the Elder Wand was Harry's, not his, as Riddle'd thought. All of the Dark Arts that Harry had used before then had been nearly useless tainting of his very being, until now, of course. How funny how things turned out in his favour, nonetheless.

---------

So, if Harry had this straight, it meant that the Founder had Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw as his friends, right? That meant that maybe Tom Riddle hadn't really thought the whole thing through, nor did he research much about Slytherin and what happened when he was alive before "Lord" Voldemort began to go through his plans for life everlasting and dominance. After Harry read all of the books he could find on Slytherin, he didn't know exactly what to believe.

On one hand, Salazar Slytherin was close friends with the other Founders, but he also left a giant basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, which would do anything Slytherin, or his Heir, wished; especially the killing of mudbloods. Which brought up another debate: how different was the wizarding world like when the Founders lived from now? The class sizes must have been exponentially smaller than the present. Was there threats of violence against the wizards by the muggles? Maybe on the Founders, themselves?

Thinking of all of this only made Harry's head hurt, as he tried to wrap his mind around the whole thing. Frustrated, he tugged on his hair, seething, grinding his teeth. Of course, this was when he caught the Gaunt -- no, the _Ressurection Stone_'s gleam, he corrected himself, on his left hand.

"Why didn't I think of this earlier?" he grumbled to himself, kicking himself, mentally, for being so dense.

Calming himself down by taking deep breaths, Harry concentrated his thoughts on Slytherin, praying that the ring would be able to call someone that died so long ago back. After a bout of sudden mist that filled the clearing, Harry finally saw him. He looked not too unlike the self he saw in the mirror in his dream (which felt like hours ago to him, now). Long black hair, a short goatee, and brilliant crimson eyes made up the image of the Founder, his head held high, the robes a dark green, lined with a silver and black.

"Salazar Slytherin?" he inquired, in complete awe of the man, now understanding the reasoning why his dream-self had looked the way it had.

Smirking, the man swept his hair back over his shoulders, then looked down at Harry. "Well, if it was you who called me here, I would rather hope that you are accomplished enough at what ever method you used (Necromancy, so on) that you would not just think that I happen to be some other wandering, murderous spirit that so happened to appear much like your wonderful ancestor," he drawled, eyebrows raised, the red eyes sending shivers down Harry's spine.

"With the number of dead wizards that have a grudge against me, I just had to be sure," Harry retorted, grinning at Slytherin, standing up, still in awe. "How did you guess that I'm your Heir? Oh, the Ring, right? Did someone else use it to bring you ba--"

"Silence," Salazar whispered, staring at Draco's limp body. "You did that to him, I presume," the Founder stated, his knowing eyes piercing into Harry, much like Voldemort's used to. "You also wear the locket, which was mine," he pointed out, lazily, as he drew closer to Harry, his ghostly hands reaching to touch the heirloom that hung around Harry's neck.

It was then that the ex-Gryffindor noticed that Salazar was only a few inches taller than him, which was a shock. He'd expected the man to be much taller than the six feet that Salazar appeared to be.

"I did," Harry breathed, shocked by how much alike they were, despite the thoughts Dumbledore put into his mind that he was the Heir to Gryffindor, just because he could pull the sword from the hat. "I also follow the Code."

"You do," Salazar assessed, eyes narrowing, unblinkingly and not breaking from Harry's eyes. "Yet you fear what you might become -- you were the one responsible for the death of my previous Heir, and for the death of my basilisk, were you not?"

Harry turned his head away and averted his eyes. Legilimency, he realized, eyes going wide, then turning back to the Founder, who'd backed away a little, a self-satisfied grin spreading across his blood-red lips, tilting his head up.

"Well done," he told Harry, his crimson eyes no longer flat as they were when he was using his skill, but full of life as he further assessed his Heir. "At least you aren't so selfish that you'd seek needlessly for fantastical methods of living eternally -- much different from what I saw of my previous Heir. I am surprised how you managed to cause his death without casting anything more than a disarming spell -- that amuses me beyond what Godric used to pull to gain my attention. But, for my Heir to be in such a House as Godric's, though is fascinating. Then, I would suppose that it was due to the stigma that our splendid Slytherin House carried with that Heir."

"So I've been told," the green-eyed wizard admitted, shrugging lightly, looking over his shoulder at the blonde who was still leaning up against the tree. It was becoming light out, he noticed, barely, through the trees.

"Hadrian," Slytherin addressed him as he scowled at the condition of his nails.

"That's--" Harry began, interrupted by Salazar once more.

"I know that may not your name, but that is what I will call you -- and it would be best to not go against me," the man warned, locking eyes with him once more.

Nodding, the shorter man caved, letting Slytherin get his way. "Since it's getting light out, I'm going to have to... erm, whatever it is that you go," Harry announced to the ghost. "After all, I do teach here, now -- I'll call you again when I'm alone, down in the Chamber, if that suits you?"

A few minutes of thought was all it took for Salazar to agree to the terms, smiling slightly at his Heir before he vanished with Harry's dismissal, of sorts. "That was interesting," he muttered, once again back to square one with what he should do with Draco.

* * *

Once again, thank you to Grae. And, to my wonderful reviewers, who have made me want to get this next chapter out so quickly.


	5. Feeling Some Remorse?

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 5: Feeling Some Remorse?_**

It was time for his sixth year class, which included those students who had proved their worth on their OWL exams and scored an E or better. Harry sighed, sitting at his desk near the front of his desk, running his left hand through his hair, feeling the weight of the heirloom on his finger, comforting him, somewhat. He'd decided after some debate, that he'd teach the older students how to fend off Inferi. Harry had quite the experience with dealing with the buggers, and wasn't looking forward to any thoughts of a practical demonstration, as Lupin so often had done.

Apparently, the Defense Against the Dark Arts spot had still been cursed, much to Harry's chagrin -- either that, or it was because of the Headmasters the school had taken on after McGonagall. Unfortunately, it meant that Harry might only have a shot at this for a year, unless it wasn't really still cursed, just carried a stigma of sorts, perhaps?

Either way, it didn't really matter all too much at the moment. Draco had proved to be quite sluggish when he woke him up, not wanting to take any chances with a pepper up potion that Harry brewed -- which proved to work on Harry, at the least. Too bad if the Mafloy didn't want to take any chances -- then again, it was he who caused Draco to need the pepper up potion in the first place....

The first students of the morning began to trickle in, the younger Smith being the first, who, like always, seemed to be the perfect student, especially when it came to his class, according to the notes the previous professors' notes. In theory, Kaleb (Raphael, really, as he wished to be called by his middle name) was a Slytherin, but seemed, according to Al and Scorpius, to be a rather bookish individual for a Slytherin. Interesting, Harry thought, turning his thoughts to the topic he was going to teach.

What was that fire spell again? And was he summoning the fire, or was it just a spell to make fire? But how did it make the fire, since matter could not be created nor destroyed?

"Augh," Harry growled, tugging at his long locks once more. It occurred to him that this was a habit he'd picked up ever since he'd been hanging out with Draco more often -- too much stress and frustration in his life, perhaps?

"Professor Potter?" a girl asked, coming up to his desk, her books still in her arms. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am fine," he replied, releasing his hair, sitting up straighter in his chair, looking up at the girl, forgetting who she was. Harry's eyes flickered to the name badge on her chest, then suddenly remembered that this was his niece that he was chatting with. "Rose!" he gasped. "I haven't seen you in ages, you look so very grown up, now," he said, to cover his own arse, so he'd get away with forgetting who she was.

"I'm doing good," she told him, flicking her hair over her shoulder -- ever the red that was so popular amongst the Weasley's.

Harry's eye twitched -- after so much practice with manners with Malfoy and company, he'd begun to internalize them so well, every time someone else made such a glaring offense, he couldn't stand it. "I'm so happy that you're doing so well," he managed, calming his nerves. After all, who knows what she was after -- she was Ginny's niece, too.

"I'm looking forward to what you're going to teach today," she replied, smiling, then turned to take her sear, apparently getting Harry's vibe that was nearly screaming that he'd rather just be left alone. He really wasn't looking forward to teaching this class at all.

In the few minutes left before the bell rang, the Heir of Slytherin contemplated how ironic it was that he, the future Dark Lord, was teaching these kids how to protect themselves against the magic that he and his future minions would use -- perhaps he should just focus on the creatures and how to deal with them, for now, as it so happened that they didn't have much teaching on, thankfully. This position, however, would likely prove to be an excellent cover for when (if ever) the Ministry started getting suspicious of him. How long, if at all, would it take for Kingsley and the rest of the Ministry to find out what Harry was up to, once he finally established himself as the Dark Lord?

The bell rang, almost causing the green-eyed wizard to jump out of his chair, but he controlled himself from appearing startled, getting up slowly to go before his class to lecture, introducing the awed (except for Rose and Raphael Smith, it seemed) sixth years to Inferi; what they are, how to defend against them, the spells used for driving them off, and so forth. At the end of the class lecture, nearly seven minutes before the bell would ring to let the class out, Harry turned to the sounds of books closing and parchment being rolled. He glared at the student in the desks before him, cutting himself off, mid-sentence.

"Packing up so early, already? On the first official day of class?" he questioned, eyebrows raised, eyeing them all closely. "You must have been rather spoiled by having professors who honestly didn't care much if you paid attention during class, but in _my_ class, we will go until the bell rings," Harry informed them, arms crossed over his chest, sleeves rolled up from writing on the board. "Now, everyone except for Mr. Smith (who is the only one that I can see that isn't ready to dart out the door) will have to hand in twelve inches on Inferi and where you might come across them. And, I might add, you may not pester Mr. Smith about the question, either -- which counts as a quiz grade," he added, seeing the excellent smirk spreading across the Slytherin's face as he said that. It appeared to Harry that the boy was just as much of a Slytherin as he was "bookish", which was not all too bad to be, as he, himself, had found out as of recent.

"Class dismissed," he called, just as the bell began to ring -- it was going to be a long day, he could feel it already. Harry was beginning to yearn for going to see Salazar and introducing Draco to him, if the blonde would be able to see him, that is. He'd have to think about how to fix that, if that were an issue.

At the end of the day, Harry stretched himself out, yawning widely as the last of the students had left the room, excited now that he'd gotten through with all of the classes of the second day at Hogwarts. He was happy to be rid of the students, freeing him to do something much more interesting, which he was sure that Draco would agree with him on that (well, at least, the first part).

Gathering his things, Harry promptly left the class room, locking the doors, spelling them with anti-theft charms, on top of that, not wanting any of his enraged sixth or seventh years to take out their problems on him for what they did earlier. He even planned on skipping dinner tonight, at least, in the Great Hall, instead, spending it with Draco, perhaps, down in the Chamber of Secrets.

* * *

  
The previous night had been torture -- granted, it hadn't been nearly as bad as how the Dark Lord had subjected him to before, but it was... different. Having seen those usually bright eyes of Harry's go suddenly dim and burning with malicious intent, directed at him, at that, had caused Draco's whole being to tremble in fear of what was running through the Gryffindor's head. He was curious to know what sort of dream -- no, it'd have to have been some sort of horrendous nightmare, to get that sort of reaction from someone like Harry -- had caused the Boy-Who-Lived to lash out in such a manner. Draco wouldn't dare ask the man, himself; certainly not after what had happened last night. He would wait for a few days to go by, at the very least.

So far, Draco had been having a rather lousy day. Not to mention the fact that he had prominent dark circles under his eyes and was dead tired and very sore. No one even came within a yard radius of him, except for some foolish Gryffindors who got the full front of his wrath and slinked away with their tails between their legs. Throughout the day, between his classes, the Slytherin contemplated on how Harry had managed to get him back to the castle in one piece, undamaged, himself. On top of that, the man had found the time to brew a pepper up potion, for Merlin's sake! And what had possessed Potter to do such a charitable act? Draco had no idea, and he wasn't just about to down something that might be very toxic, seeing as Potter was the one who made it, after all.

After ample thought, as he was packing his supplies into his bag, Draco found that there was no other way that Harry could have accomplished all those things without having to go the whole night and morning without any sleep. To think that the Potter would actually be able to manage that and to avoid looking as tired and suspicious as Draco did?

Just as he was about to leave, he nearly ran into Scorpius, very unexpectedly. "Father," he managed, his breathing laboured, as he stabilized himself against the doorway into the potions lab. "I've got to talk with you -- Professor Greengrass... she..." the younger Malfoy paused, looking a bit closer at his father. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah, just a bit of a late night," Draco admitted, shrugging somewhat absent-mindedly. "You were saying something about your Aunt?"

"She... we should talk about this in your rooms, I think," Scorpius told his father, keeping his voice low.

"I see," the elder replied, a bit intrigued. Well, he was going to meet Potter down in his rooms and it wasn't like he was going to keep something so trivial from the man, anyway.

And once the two reached the dungeons and entered the Slytherin Head's rooms, they found that Harry had beaten them, already making himself readily at home. "Hullo, Scorpius," he greeted, smiling good-naturedly at the two Malfoys. "I took the liberty of ordering something for the two of us, Draco. Are you joining us for dinner, Scorpius?" the Gryffindor inquired, the smile still plastered over his face, his eyes shinning much brighter than they usually did.

Draco automatically knew that something was up with Potter -- not something too bad, he hoped -- he'd had enough crap from his students today to put up with Potter's inane ramblings.

"Thank you for the offer, but I will decline," Scorpius replied, bowing his head slightly. "I just came to discuss something with Father, quickly."

"Do continue," Harry motioned, grinning, sitting back in his chair, crossing his legs languidly under his emerald-green robes, watching the two.

Scorpius was getting a bit unnerved with the display that Harry was putting on, swallowing slowly, then looking back to his father. "Professor Greengrass asked me today if the rumour was true..." he blushed, now thinking that he might've been wrong when he told Daphne what he did. He looked back at Harry, who appeared to be somewhat drunk, his longer hair brushed, for once, and clothed in much different robes than the ones he taught in (green ones, at that!). "Er, never mind, I'll just talk to you tomorrow -- I forgot that I promised to meet Al in the Library tonight," he made up, trying to avoid Draco's eyes as he marched to the door, swung it open and closed it swiftly behind him.

Taking a deep breath and slowly letting it out, Draco shook his head at Scorpius' temporary lunacy. He set down his things near the door and joined Harry at the small table he'd set up in the small room, set with a table cloth and the proper silver wear. "I think you've just proved the rumour true, Potter -- especially after last night," he said, rolling his eyes, too tired to put up much a fight.

"Oh, I suppose that your pleasantly worn out look did wonders concerning that particular rumour," Harry agreed, the grin turning into a wide smirk. "After dinner, I have something to show you."

"It better not be some poor animal that one of your students found trapped in some cubby, asking me if you want to keep it -- if that's the case, I'm just going to kill it," Draco intoned, his voice quite flat, but containing a hint of warning.

"Shall we eat?" Harry asked, quirking a brow at Draco, who sat across from him at their quaint little table.

Following the dinner, after clearing the table out of the room, Harry sat Draco down on the couch next to him, leaning forward, letting the blonde see the ring on his left hand. "Well, Draco, I'm going to demonstrate the powers of this Hallow -- now, watch closely..." he whispered, concentrating on seeing Salazar Slytherin once more, a rush of pleasure sweeping through him when he opened his eyes once more upon seeing the Malfoy's reaction.

* * *

Thanks in large part to Grae, once more, for the awesome amounts of help that she provides; and to Moogle, who is my saviour, sometimes. As well as to my wonderful reviewers! I love hearing what you think about the story, even if it's just a "cool".


	6. Slytherin Versus Gryffindor

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

_Chapter 6: Slytherin Versus Gryffindor_

Just like before, there was a fine mist that appeared as the soul in question was summoned by the Resurrection Stone. When the mist cleared, Salazar Slytherin was revealed to the two men, dressed in his emerald-green and silver attire, just as before, neatly groomed, his long hair pulled back into a simple tie, his crimson eyes glimmering in the low dungeon light.

"Well, if this isn't a familiar setting," the Founder proclaimed, smirking at Harry, his Heir, taking in his surroundings.

"Merlin," Draco breathed, blatantly staring at Slytherin, the Founder of his wonderful House. What pride the Malfoy had welled up in his chest, which quickly turned into completely un-concentrated awe upon seeing the ghost.

"Salazar, actually," he retorted smartly, seeming to be almost offended that Draco might even think to call him such a name. "I take it that you're a Malfoy, judging my the tall, slight, thin build, and silvery blonde hair. Am I correct?"

Blinking, Draco snapped himself out of his daze long enough to nod slowly, stating simply, "you are," before his eyes widened even further with amazement at the man before him.

"Good, well, it's a pleasure to finally meet you when you're conscience," he replied, knowing he wouldn't get much of a reaction out of Draco, as the man was totally enthralled with just Salazar's mere presence. So, he turned to Harry, "Hadrian," he addressed him, a bit more gently than he'd done with Malfoy.

"Yes, sir?" Harry acknowledged, starting to get used to the strange name that his ancestor was calling him.

"I've decided on a full name to give you, since no matter what other name your parents have given you, it is likely to reflect their ignorance of your true heritage," Slytherin explained. "I doubt that you should declare yourself as this newly christened name until it seems the appropriate time."

"It's an honour," came the reply, followed by a swift nodding of Harry's head.

"I now declare you to be Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin, my Heir, the next Dark Lord," Salazar issued, immense pride appearing to fill his eyes, the corners of his thin lips twitching slowly into a wide, satisfied grin. "I do hope that you will continue to prove yourself worthy of such a title. Do you swear on your magic?"

"Nothing under the heavens will keep me from bringing honour and glory to the name of Slytherin," he intoned, looking Salazar directly in the eyes, determined.

"And this Malfoy will bear witness to this pledge," the Founder continued, his hot gaze resting upon Draco, who immediately nodded his understanding of what was happening.

With that, the Slytherin Heir was enveloped in a loose knitting of silvery magic, which disappeared nearly as fast as it had come, signifying the forming of his pact to Slytherin permanently.

It was needless to explain to Harry what had just happened, especially after he'd spent so many of his summers with the Malfoys, learning much of the wizarding culture and customs than he'd been exposed to living with Ginny. Salazar felt this, since his Heir wouldn't have invoked such a powerful compact with even anyone, let alone the ghost of Salazar Slytherin, who he, himself, had summoned.

"Shall we discuss the current situation, then?" the red-eyed wizard suggested, his gaze still focused on the Malfoy, who was now becoming more conscience of the conversation between the two Slytherin men. "Now, I assume that you are Hadrian's... _fautor_?" Salazar directed his inquiry to Draco, this time.

"Pardon?" the blonde petitioned the apparition, not familiar with the term (neither was Harry, by the casual glance that he cast the brunette's way, earning a look of puzzlement).

"I suppose that in the day in age you live in, Latin isn't a commonly used language, then?" Slytherin asked, rhetorically. "Its meaning consists of the English words, 'supporter' and often, 'second'," he allowed, tilting his head, as he peered at the two sitting on the couch.

"Yes, my lord, I am your Heir's _fautor_," Draco finally replied, bowing his head slightly, the Latin a little strange on his tongue.

"Superb," the Founder's ghost nodded, thinking of how he should address the matter he needed to discuss with the two at the moment. "The situation that the two of you are up against -- I would like to be updated continually and regularly, so that I may assist my Heir and prevent any foolish decisions, until he becomes more capable of doing things on his own. In addition to this request, I would like to know more about my previous Heir: his mistakes, how he treated his followers, and anything else that you think I should know."

"I will, my liege," Draco conceded, informing the Slytherin Founder of what he had requested in the few hours that he could spare before Harry and he had to retire. Salazar was very understanding and was willing to wait until the next night for the rest.

A few weeks later, Harry received an owl from his wife, Ginny, demanding (in a rather polite way, of course) that Harry would meet her and discuss a few things concerning their marriage and Albus. After talking it over with Draco, Harry arranged to meet Ginny at the house (that was now hers) for a supposedly present evening and dinner.

"She's likely going to serve me with papers," Harry said glumly to his supporter and friend. "I'm not really looking forward to this weekend at all. If I don't come back, do you promise to take care of Albus for me?"

"Harry," Draco began, dispassionately, not even pausing to glance up from his book at the overly-worried Potter across from him, whose book was lying unopened on the table next to him. "She's not going to _murder_ you. You're still the Boy-Who-Lived, for Merlin's sake. Try being a little realistic occasionally, hm?"

"I suppose you're right; I just can't help but thinking about it, that's all," he sighed in return, too distracted by his own thoughts to read the book sitting next to him.

"Try not bothering me with it, then, since I'd rather finish this book of mine, thank you," the blonde retorted, flipping a page.

"Sorry," Harry said, keeping to himself for awhile, until something else began to nag him about the event coming up. At first, he wasn't going to say anything, not wanting to procure Draco's wrath. It was only because the man so suddenly closed his book and glared half-heartedly at him that he gained enough courage to even consider mentioning it. "What will Ginny think of me being... well, so much taller, now?" he questioned, a bit flushed from embarrassment concerning the topic.

"Just tell her the truth, I'm sure she'll understand, Potter," the blonde responded sarcastically.

"Oh, like telling her that my second-in-command-to-be was too ashamed of having a lord that was shorter than the average wizard to instill any fear in the masses is the reason why this individual in question forced me, his lord, to take numerous disgusting growth potions to make me just a few inches taller than a certain ghost that goes by the name of Salazar Slytherin. Yeah, I'm sure that she'll buy that, not at all suspicious of anything," the Potter rejoined, snidely. "Add on top of that, I should also just come straight out and tell her that you and I are so close now, that I'm wearing your clothes."

"If you think that'll work," Draco agreed, grinning widely, obviously amused. "And I was thinking for a minute there that you enjoyed the torture that went along with those wonderful potions that've made you much less identifiable, if you were going to keep this double life going as long as you certainly will want to."

Taking a long, deep breath, Harry held up both hands in a sign of surrender. "I know you were just trying to help and all, but it really _was_ painful," Harry complained, groaning as he remembered the days he'd taken to lecturing sitting down, spelling the notes to appear on the board, due to the rather intense pain the growth potions had caused.

"Well, if you'd been taller than the average witch to begin with, the process wouldn't have been nearly quite so painful," the Malfoy informed.

"Yeah, so you keep telling me, Malfoy."

"Then, just tell her you'd requested me to make them for you, if you'd like?"

"Sounds like a better plan that any other I could have come up with. But, concerning Salazar, I'm sure you couldn't wait until you got to see his reaction to seeing that I was now so much taller than him, rather unexpectedly," the Slytherin Heir replied, shifting in his fair, his now long fingers tracing the patter on the face of the locket around his neck. "What I still don't get is why the potions also made my fingers longer... I thought that was more of an inherited trait?" Harry pondered aloud, rather seriously.

"It happens, sometimes, if you take enough of them -- and you most certainly did, compared to what most do," Draco answered matter-of-factly, shrugging his shoulders lightly.

"I don't suppose that we could make a trip to Hogsmeade, maybe, before I have to go over for dinner at Ginny's?" he wondered, thinking of the free tie he had between Thursday and Saturday evening.

"And when do you suppose we go on this proposed jaunt?" Draco asked, cocking an eyebrow at Harry's rather late thought to by himself some new clothing items. As not to anger Ginny further, as he gathered was the reasoning behind this particular thought process.

"Er..." he cringed, unable to come up with any reasonable amount of time to make a visit anywhere and purchase any clothing item at all.

"Precisely what I thought, which is why I'm willing to let you borrow my clothes for the time being -- even a nice, traditional Slytherin cloak that my father gave to me upon my marriage, years ago," the blonde offered to Harry, knowing the man wouldn't refuse, no matter how questionable the articles of clothing may seem for the occasion of visiting his wife.

To Harry, it seemed like this was just another good excuse of Draco's to dress him up in anything remotely Slytherin-looking. True, he'd gotten a number of compliments lately from his co-workers about how the green in the robes (and the silvers and the blacks) brought out the colour of his eyes.

So, the time finally came when Harry was to arrive at the home he'd used to live in with Ginny on Saturday evening. He appeared in the front of the main entry way a minute early, checking his cloak, robes, and hair one last time before he knocked on the brown, wooden door. His hair had been tied back as best as Draco could manage, the rest of the hair that could not be pulled back hung loose around Harry's face, often getting in the way of his eyes. Salazar had worn his hair in a rather similar manner, which is likely to be what had inspired Malfoy in the first place. The cloak (an ebony black with silver trim) and robe (a dark forest green -- _very Slytherin_, Harry noted) that his friend had lent him were almost the perfect size, strangely enough. He could have sworn that he was still just a bit shorter than Draco was, which made the fitting robes that much more curious. The Slytherin locket was carefully hidden beneath the robes and the Pervell ring was now on his right hand, the ring Ginny had given him back on its proper place on the left hand.

After taking a deep breath, Harry summoned up some courage to knock on the door, heart pounding in his ears.

A few seconds later, Ginny (who was a bit flustered once she realized who was at her door) did a double take. "Harry?" she asked, sounding shocked. "Come in," she said, finally, opening the door wide enough to let her husband inside.

Harry felt just as flustered as Ginny acted. He certainly hadn't been expecting _this_ sort of reaction from the redhead.

"Well," he began, sitting down in the offered chair at the table in the dinning room. "I see you've been doing some redecorating ... I like it -- it's different."

She nodded, a bit awkwardly. "Thanks, I guess," Ginny replied, her voice soft, still sounding unsure of what she was saying. "Um... you've gotten _taller_ since the last time I remember seeing you, Harry," she noted, staring at him, the bashfulness suddenly gone.

"I asked Draco to brew some growth potions for me -- I was tired of being treated inferior by him; granted, I'm not as tall as he is, but at least I don't feel like I have to crane my neck to meet anyone's eyes, now," he joked, attempting to make it seem like a much smaller issue than it might be with Ginny.

"There's nothing wrong with that," Ginny allowed, meeting Harry's eyes for the first time that night. "Except for the fact that the Harry I knew and loved wouldn't do such a selfish thing."

"_Ginny!_" he hissed, taken aback by what she'd just said. "I'm still the same person -- how can you accuse me of --"

"Easy," she started, interrupting him abruptly. "Neville, your son, James, and your daughter, Lily, tell me that you've been wearing that locket that had the note from Regulus Black to Voldemort in it: that little trinket used to belong to _Voldemort_, remember? Your worst enemy? And that's not all I've heard. You've been hanging around with Malfoy almost constantly since you'd accepted the Defense position at Hogwarts, not hanging out with your old, true friends. Luna, Neville, and even Percy have told me that despite their offers to take you out for dinner and a fun evening, you've been holing yourself up in that damp dungeon with Malfoy. _ Not one day have you spent away from that bloody bastard!_

"Also, I've been told that you pointedly declined the position as the head of Gryffindor, _repeatedly_. Where's the Gryffindor spirit that you used to have so much of? Maybe you'd rather be the _Slytherin_ head, after all that time you've spent with the ferret, since he's rubbed off on you so _damn_ much. More than you'd thought, perhaps?" Ginny continued, becoming more infuriated as she continued to list more and more things she found wrong with everything Harry had done since last Spring when he'd consulted Draco about the position.

"Draco is an excellent friend; he understands me better than you do, sometimes," Harry retorted, doing his best to control his temper, which had flared up in him at the insults Ginny was throwing at him and at Draco.

"So, you think _that_ way about him. Just like the rumours say, then?" the redhead inquired, looking straight into the other's eyes once more, attempting to extract the truth.

"No, nothing like _that_," he replied, overly frustrated with both Ginny and himself for having such a huge misunderstanding. "He's helped me out with some of my lesson plans; he's funny too! He's a totally different person than from before his wife passed away, completely changed from that nasty jerk we both knew in school. Draco's matured and become very knowledgeable about the current events and such."

"Probably some Dark Arts, too," she snorted, mainly addressing that comment to herself. It took a few minutes of silence for Ginny to mount a proper counter to that, something that the Slytherin Heir was dreading.

"You're saying that you willingly engage in this supposed 'friendship' with him, which could be a complete and utter lie to use you over the friendships that have lasted and proven themselves again and again to be loyal and true for decades? You'd rather be with someone who was a _Death Eater_ than those who fought on the same side as you did in the war?" she pursued, her eyes inflamed with passion directed against Harry, much to his despair.

"I do, yeah," he retorted smoothly, his fiery temper slowly dissolving into small embers in the pit of his stomach. "Because I don't think he's using me and I don't see anything wrong with being friends with a Malfoy. After all, I trust him -- I saved him and I don't think he would betray be after that."

"Oh, I see how it is, now," Ginny raged, standing up, abruptly. "You pretend to still be a Gryffindor on the outside, occasionally, but it'd just be better if you stopped trying to be something you obviously would rather _not_ be." She went and got a folder of ominous-looking paperwork. "Sign them, then leave," she ordered, dropping the large folder onto the table in front of him.

"At least, let me keep Al?" Harry appealed, gripping his knees, hoping that Ginny would be somewhat reasonable with his request.

Ginny and Albus hadn't really gotten along all that well from the start, for some reason, and that relationship had just gotten even worse after Al'd gotten sorted into Slytherin. At first, it was just her anger and frustration with him choosing Slytherin over Gryffindor after he'd told her what Harry had revealed to him that one fateful day at the platform. Then, when family came over (especially Ron's side), Albus was teased and ridiculed for a while at school and at these gatherings, eventually isolating himself from his relatives -- all except for Harry, his father, who seemed to understand him better than his mother had.

Considering the inquiry for a while, Ginny glared at Harry for a minute, then came up with a reply: "As long as you're not going to come back and tell me that raising him on your own is too tough for you and attempt to dump him on me."

And so, any hopes that Harry had before of clearing up the misunderstandings and making up with his wife were completely extinguished once he opened the first page of the divorce papers that were all filled out, awaiting his John Hancock. Harry signed the revolting things in silence as Ginny watched him, peering over his shoulder. He didn't care what she wanted from him, as long as he got to keep Al with him, knowing just how much he would regret it if he'd left him with Ginny and the other two children, Harry just wanted this whole thing over and done with.

"I suppose that I'll see you around, then, huh?" he asked, not willing to meet her eyes, afraid of what he'd find there.

With that, Harry pulled off the wedding band, setting it down on the table, walking to the door, swinging it open deftly, almost out the door when he heard a timid: "wait!"

He didn't turn around, but he paused, shifting towards Ginny a little more, to indicate he was listening.

"Tell him that I love him, will you?" she whispered, her voice shaking with emotion.

With a nod, Harry closed the door behind him, _Disapperating_ once he was sure that Ginny wasn't going to run after him, holding back his tears until he got to the Forbidden Forrest.

* * *

Thanks in great part to Moogle (or Boogum) for some ideas about the end, here, and of course, to Grae, who's been so loyal and helps out so much.

Of course, and to the readers and the reviewers! Your input is always highly appreciated.


	7. Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 7: Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin_**

"Albus!" came a familiar voice from behind him down the dungeon hallway.

It'd been two weeks since he had been notified by a rather sullen Harry Potter that he was going to be staying with him from now on.

It'd been two weeks since his father had talked to him outside of class -- not even a single hello.

It'd been two weeks since _he'd _become the prime target of the rumours circling around the castle concerning his family.

It'd been two weeks of pure Hell for Albus Severus Potter, and he didn't like it at all.

On the bright side, he supposed, at least he was the official heir, of sorts, to the Potter legacy.

"Yeah?" Al replied at last, his voice sounding tired. He didn't bother to turn around.

Panting lightly, the professor straightened himself in front of his son, "I've been looking for you...."

"Sorry," the younger Potter retorted, turning around to face his father, slowly. He looked better than the last two weeks, but was still somewhat unshaven and quite a mess. "You're going to catch Hell from Professor Malfoy once he figures out you've managed to start to pull yourself together, you know," he pointed out, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

"I've already been sufficiently humiliated," Harry admitted, hanging his head slightly. "I wanted to talk to you about what happened between your mother and I the other night."

"I don't really want to talk about it," Al rejoined rather harshly. "That mother of mine would rather not have much else to do--"

"She still loves you, Al," Harry told him, staring into his son's eyes, a determined look in his own green ones.

"But not you, apparently," the boy retorted, saying it without thinking of what it might do to his father. "Oh, Merlin, Dad... I didn't mean that."

After taking a slow, easy breath, the Slytherin Heir shook his head. "It's fine -- I've done my best to get over it. And, I wanted to introduce you to someone. He thought it would be good of me to do that as soon as I was capable without making things much more of a mess than they already are."

The Slytherin student didn't want to take any chances with words, so he simply nodded his head, wondering who on earth this person could be. Since his dad was still going up the stairs to the second floor, it wasn't someone outside of the school....

"Go ahead," Harry said, pushing the entrance open to the girl's bathroom upon inspecting it for anyone and making sure the hallway was clear.

"But, Dad... it's--" he started, eyes wide in disbelief.

He didn't get to finish his sentence as Harry shoved him into the bathroom, spelling the door closed behind them. "_Hush_," Harry hissed, motioning for Al to follow him to the particular sink that had some snake scratched into the surface of the faucet. "_Open,_" the Slytheirn Heir intoned in Parsletongue, shocking Albus even further.

Soon, the sink and plumbing pulled back and revealed the opening into the entrance of the Chamber of Secrets.

"Holy shit," Al breathed, unable to think of anything else.

While Al knew that his father spoke and read Parsletongue (which was a characteristic that was inherited by the Heirs of Slytherin), he'd never actually heard him speak it. Nor did he expect to have understood his father when he did.

"_Well, stop staring and come on_," Harry continued, rather unaware that he was still speaking in the language of snakes.

Al could only nod and follow behind his father blindly, eventually leading the two of them into a rather large, temple-like room. "Whoa," he gasped in amazement, attempting to take the whole place in at once.

"I do suppose you'd like to meet him?" Harry questioned, amused by his son's reactions to the place. He'd been immensely grateful that he got Ron and Hermione to help him with disposing of the basilisk corpse now, since the whole place was beginning to reek of something ungodly. The ex-Gryffindor fingered the locket on his neck, thinking of the Founder, the ring on his left hand reacting as usual, revealing the man in question after a bout of fine mist.

"Salazar Slytherin," the man in the green and gray tunic introduced himself as, nodding his head a little, then realizing just who was in front of him. "Albus, is it? Hadrian told me much about you."

"Sal... azar... _Slytherin_?" Al repeated, feeling a bit faint. Before he knew it, the world tipped and turned, then faded into black.

* * *

"Well, that was rather anti-climatic," Salazar voiced, eyebrows raised at the young Slytherin student sprawled in front of him on the floor of his chamber. "I see that you've done a splendid job with the place in my stead -- basilisks are just so easy to come by now a days."

"I was -- " Harry moved to defend himself, as always, but, as always, was cut off by Salazar.

"Lighten up, would you, Hadrian?" Salazar retorted, rolling his eyes at his Heir's constant need to justify himself. "I understand why you had to do that -- I would have done the exact same thing."

Harry bent down to reposition Al a little better, sitting him up against a pillar, checking to make sure his son didn't have a concussion from landing on the stone floor as he had. "Sweet Merlin," he said, letting out the breath he didn't know he was holding, "he's all right."

"You never told me what you're going to do about what that unreasonable ex-wife of yours said," Slytherin prompted, gesturing Harry to expand on the given subject.

"Well, I was just thinking that maybe just the robes and the locket weren't enough, for appearances, at least, concerning Ginny's point of view. I think I'll grow out my hair like yours.... but, otherwise..."

Salazar, smirking widely, held out his semi-translucent hand out for Harry's wand. "I won't hurt you, don't worry -- you're all I have left," the Italian man promised, looking into Harry's eyes. Upon taking the wand, he instructed Harry to hold very still as he waved the Elder wand, his smirk widening. "I'm sure that everyone who has even a slight idea about what I might look like will recognize something of that in you now."

Once Harry got his wand back, he felt his face, slowly coming to realize what his ancestor did to him. "No," he breathed, summoning a mirror, "dear Merlin, I look like _you_!"

"Was that not the whole purpose, Hadrian?" the ghostly man questioned, mostly to himself, shaking his head in disappointment in his Heir.

"I was just... shocked, is all," Harry clarified, his eyes unable to move from the conjured mirror. "But, I pulled the Gryffindor sword out of the hat -- what does that mean?"

"It just means that at the time, Godric's sword knew that you were willing the embrace Gryffindor ideals and slay the horrible creature that he couldn't," Salazar shrugged, his brows furrowing as he thought about his old friend.

Nodding, and not wanting to disturb his ancestor, Harry instead turned to his son to check on how he was doing. It'd been a while since the boy had fainted, hopefully he was going to be all right.

And just as he thought of these things, Al groaned, his right hand reaching automatically up to his head as he opened his eyes. "Ouch, that hurt," he moaned, rubbing the spot he fell on, gritting his teeth. Looking up to the others in the Chamber, he realized, "It wasn't just a dream after all..." Albus whispered, in awe of Salazar Slytherin.

"He's worse than your _fautor_, Hadrian," Salazar muttered, gliding close next to his heir.

"Who's Hadrian?" Al asked, coming out of his stupor. Was it not just the three of them in the room?

"I am," Harry admitted to his youngest son, grinning slightly, the goatee still feeling rather alien on his chin. "Salazar named me such, and I have come to realize that it's rather pointless to argue with the man on such a matter."

* * *

"Dad, I think Slytherin's son was named Hadrian," Albus informed his father once they were alone in the Chamber.

"Did he become a Dark Lord after his father?" Harry asked, unable to remember the full story correctly.

"He did, eventually -- he's the one who's thought to have slain Godric Gryffindor, too," Albus recalled, straightening his robes. "Of course, this is after Gryffindor supposedly killed his 'worst enemy', Salazar Slytherin. But, then, if that's true, then how did the sword return to Hogwarts, since Gryffindor sought out the Slytherins?"

That was the very question Harry was pondering: Slytherin had said that Harry had only been able to use the sword before he was declared as the Heir of Slytherin after Tom Riddle, Jr.'s death. And then, if Gryffindor hadn't brought the sword to fight Slytherin in the first place, why wasn't it just out in the open, then? He'd have to find out what really happened from the source.

"Well," Harry began, looking at Albus, trying to determine if he should let him stay as Harry summoned this particular soul. "There's only one way to find out, right?"

So, Harry put his mind to summoning the soul of the one who was known to history as Salazar Slytherin's only son, the First Heir. "Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin..." he called, his eyes closed to the physical world, peering within.

At first, the Heir believed to see a glimmer of something that might the soul of the person he was concentrating on, but vanished as soon as he opened his eyes to the Chamber.

"Dad!" Albus cried, running to his father, shaking him. "Are you all right?" the boy asked, tugging on Harry's robes.

Harry swayed for a while, then blinked his hooded eyes, clearing them, becoming more conscience of the world around him. "I'm sorry -- I don't know what happened... he was right there," he groaned, beating himself up. "I guess I'm too used to summoning just Salazar -- probably too tired."

Albus nodded, still appearing to be concerned about his father, helping the taller man up out of the Chamber of Secrets and back into his rooms. "See you tomorrow then, Dad?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, closing the door slowly behind himself as he watched Al turn and walk down to the dungeons. "Sorry that took so long," he said, turning to Draco, who was reading on the couch.

"No worries, _Master_," Draco replied snidely, shutting the book and setting it aside. "Did you find out anything interesting, other than great familial resemblance and how to groom yourself properly? You know, important things?"

The other snorted, sitting down next to the blonde. "I couldn't summon Hadrian Slytherin for some reason -- Slytherin's son. I wanted to find out how the Gryffindor sword ended up back at Hogwarts, hidden in the hat. Not just that, but if he was the one that killed Gryffindor -- if he became a Dark Lord after his father."

"Maybe you've been using the ring too much? It might need a power boost of sorts," Draco suggested, shrugging the subject off nonchalantly.

This idea, however, struck Harry, causing him to remember something very important. "What if..." he breathed, acting like a man possessed, pulling out his wand, rushing into his room, spelling open his trunk, digging for something. A look of triumph crossed his face for a split second before a brilliant burst of light rushed around and enveloped him, the light almost immediately turning into utter nothingness as soon as it appeared, as if it were a trick of his mind. It felt as if he suddenly went blind -- disorienting and confusing -- and was suddenly awoken from the dead all at once.

Harry opened his eyes, feeling more aware of everything than ever before: the blacks, the reds, the greens of his room felt undiluted to his new eyes; the taste of the air was rich and filled his lungs more completely than they ever had before; things were so rich and pure and wonderful it sent multiple tremors of pleasure down Harry's spine as he tried to interpret all of it at once.

"I'm alive," he breathed, the statement infinitely more true than it'd ever been before in his life before. In comparison, it was almost like he was dead before and now... _now_, he was really _alive_.

With pure, undiluted power flooding through him, now, Harry knew what he'd do next -- he'd find the answers to his questions he had for Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin about.... well, everything, really. '_Why did Salazar call him by his dead son's name?_' is what Harry yearned to know the most of all else.

Closing his eyes once more, the Master of Death turned his attention to the soul in question, seeing him ever more clearly in his mind's eye, this time. Something was horribly, terribly different this time, though: the man, Hadrian, smirked at him. At this time, a splitting pain tore through Harry, causing him to double over in pain, but persisted in trying to summon the illusive First Heir of Slytherin -- he had too many questions to ask for this chance to slip away. This continued until the pain became almost too intolerable that he felt wet, suddenly, all over.

_No matter_, he told himself, pushing just a little bit further. The pain was excruciating, almost as if he were being cut into two with a dull blade that had rusted over too many years of misuse. Trying to wipe away what seemed to be merely sweat, Harry had to open his eyes when curiosity got the best of him at the difference in texture of the wetness he felt on his fingers. What was supposed to be clear, salty sweat was in fact red -- crimson, to be precise -- it was blood. His blood. His blood was dripping down from his forehead, from his mouth, from his eyes....

The shock was far too much for him to keep at his futile chase of ghosts, falling to the floor, weak and exhausted. The last thing that he saw was a blurred figure running towards him, screaming frantically: "Oh, _God, Harry!!_"

* * *

Climatic ending, yes? I've been dying to leave a cliffhanger forever -- and now, I've gotten my wish.

Great thanks is due to Boogum (once more) for major inspiration and help with this chapter (the second half after the Chamber scene). Also, thanks is due to KouenTaisa (my dear Grae) as well, for help and inspiration, as well as bearing with me through the muck of the whole thing, good and bad. Thank you greatly to both of you! I'd never got this up without either of you.

Also, thanks to the band ASP, especially the songs "How Far Would You Go?" and "Me" for major inspiration for this chapter.


	8. I Am?

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 8: I Am...?_**

Draco had followed behind Harry closely, watching in horror as his friend began _sweating blood_: bleeding out of his eyes, mouth and nose on top of that.... What really caught his gaze, though, was the glow that was surrounding Harry -- it was almost ghastly looking, draining the man of all colour -- as if a shadow had enveloped him.

As Harry collapsed, Draco no longer stood around idly and watched, dazed; instinct took over, causing him to rush over quickly to the man, calling out to him frantically, "_Oh God, Harry!!_"

He wasn't really sure about what to do, but it seemed the only thing Draco could do at the moment was take care of Harry physically and hope the wizard would recover soon.

The blonde gathered damp towels and mopped up the majority of the blood on Harry's face, being as careful and gentle as he could. Once that was accomplished, he set about carrying Harry to his bed and changing his clothes.

* * *

It had been three days. Three days of sheer torture for Draco and Albus. Harry hadn't woken from a coma-like state, but the two weren't willing to go and seek help; after all, who knows what they would think of the circumstances. And Draco certainly wasn't going to risk being tortured (again) if Harry woke up in a particularly nasty mood after he'd called someone else in to take care of him.

Draco had easily told everyone else that Harry had come down with a bad case of Dragon Pox -- a lie, but it was a plausible excuse for people to not come and visit the wizard.

He and Albus had already looked up everything they could that might be remotely related to Harry's current state, but neither of them could come up with anything. Nor could Scorpius, for that matter. All of this was very frustrating and aggravating -- more than anything else Draco had to deal with from Harry in the past.

"Damnit, would you just wake up and stop giving us all this grief?" Draco grumbled, seething, slamming another useless book on the nightstand, making Al jump from shock.

"Merlin, don't give me a heart attack -- how would you explain that one off?" Albus said, snidely, scowling at the blonde, setting the book he'd finished looking through on the other side of the same night stand.

"It's not like I killed your father, you ungrateful brat," Draco hissed, silvery eyes narrowing at the boy.

"I'm so not--"

"Would you _please_ shut up!" came a third voice, uncharacteristically stern.

"Dad?" Albus gasped, mouth agape.

"Huhn?" Harry replied, appearing to be befuddled for a second or two, then recovered easily. "Yeah, I'm fine now," he assured his son, grinning slightly.

"Do you remember what happened?" Draco asked, curiosity getting the best of him.

A perplexed look spread across the Slytherin Heir's face, followed by heavy concentration, his eyebrows knotting together, "no, other than the fact I feel better than I ever have before in my entire life."

"Interesting," Draco whispered, watching the other man carefully.

"Do you remember who _you_ are?" Al interjected, most likely playing at a joke.

As always, Harry played along: "Of course, I'm Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin," he said, then hesitated. "No, I'm Harry James Potter," he corrected, "...I think...."

There was a heavy silence in the room, weighing down on all three occupants. It was only until Al cleared his throat, that Draco managed to gather enough courage to speak. "Isn't that what Salazar Slytherin calls you?"

"You mean my father?" Harry asked again, baffled by his own automatic response to that particular subject. "What the bloody hell am I saying?!"

Draco cringed, thinking of an explanation, but not very willing to explain. He met Harry's eyes momentarily, shocked when he saw the eyes flash an unexpected darker colour -- nearly black -- and felt a sudden sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. The Malfoy had felt this sensation too many times before, recalling memories of Voldemort's temporary reign of terror from his youth.

"Draco," Harry commanded, his lips parting in a wicked flash of teeth, eyes rapidly darkening to a deep emerald. "I have suspicions that you, my dear _fautor_, are withholding a crucial piece of information from me -- and I do not appreciate this deception of yours."

"My Lord," Draco breathed, his face draining of colour, shocking Albus even more than what his father had just said. "I must apologize for keeping information from you," he managed, beginning to sweat -- this wasn't exactly what he had been planning. Harry had been so... cooperative before -- nothing like this.

Harry shook himself, coming to the blonde, putting his hands on his friend's shoulders. "Draco, I'm sorry," he put out, sighing. "I don't know what I'm saying anymore -- it's like there's someone else inside me that's overriding my thoughts and saying whatever they want."

"I believe you split your soul, in attempting to summon your own soul," Draco told his master, beginning to feel he was being jerked around a bit too much by Harry. "But I couldn't be sure, until I found out from your son that was what you were trying to do. It seems that since you are the owner of Hadrian Slytherin's soul, it could not be summoned, since it was still living."

After thinking about it for a second, Harry nodded, "It makes sense." He turned to Albus after another moment to pause, "I... no, Hadrian, was the Dark Lord after... Salazar Slytherin; he did kill _Gryffindor_," he spat the name, eyes gleaming.

"He did?" Albus confirmed, grinning from ear to ear. "Sweet."

Draco didn't know what to say to that, in all honesty, but he did know that he should tell Harry about the cover story they invented. "I've told Headmaster Fudge that you've contracted Draco Pox -- Albus and I have both had it before, but Scorpius has not, so he isn't going to be able to come into your rooms until you 'recover'. Normally, a bout of Dragon Pox runs its course after a week -- you still have about four days or more left," he explained to the man before him, meeting his eyes hesitantly. "I suggest that you--"

"Do _not_ tell me what to do, Malfoy," Harry retorted, standing up straight with some difficulty. "I'd appreciate it if you made some potions to help me with the pain, however, if you're willing," the green-eyed wizard continued, more or less like himself again.

"Yes, my Lord, I will -- what kinds?" Draco wasn't about to take any chances with how unsteady the transitions between personas was happening with Harry to risk anything. Being hit with the Cruciatus Curse again with the Deathstick wasn't on his list of things to do over and over, like Bella, his aunt, had.

"Muscle relaxes, I think," he answered, humming deeply -- Hadrian's voice, Draco noticed. "And some Dreamless Sleep potions for tonight and the next, at least," Harry added, eyes half-closed, looking as if to be in a daze.

"I'll get right on it," Draco replied, bowing slightly. "Anything else, my Lord?"

"How about taking Al and Scorpius out and get them something they want?" he said, smiling non-committally.

Just as Draco was about to leave behind Albus, Harry stopped him, closing the door with his want, gently.

"Wait," he whispered, leaning heavily against the post of his black and green bed, breathing heavily, eyes closed fully now. "You needn't call me 'Lord', Draco -- not yet, at least. I will not harm you on purpose, I promise; well, not _me_, at least. I don't know how I... well, Hadrian, really, works with his followers or anything, yet," Harry paused, wiping his forehead with the sleeve of his plain night robes.

Draco relaxed, grinning back at his changed friend, "I'm the one who should apologize; I tried to use you. I know you trusted me and I betrayed that trust -- it was wrong of me to --"

"Enough," he cut in, his voice barely louder than a breath. "I understand, Ginny was right, but there was no one else with your knowledge that I could even begin to trust with such a situation as mine. Not that I had that much choice to begin with, since Al is the one mostly at fault for bringing us together," Harry added with a weak laugh and a single cough.

The blonde let out a deep breath, staring at nothing in particular before turning to Harry again. "Thank you for the second chance," he returned in an equally soft whisper. "You should rest until I get back with the potions, Harry."

"Yeah, I suppose I should, shouldn't I?" the ebony-haired man surmised, a sardonic grin plastered on his lips, amusement evident in his darker green eyes.

"I will return swiftly," Draco promised, sweeping out of the room, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Harry (_or was it Hadrian, now?_) fell back into the soft sheets of his bed, contemplating all that had just happened.

On one hand, he now had abilities and spell knowledge like never before -- a huge benefit for him -- that Hadrian had leared and acquired throughout his lifetime. Granted, nearly all of it was Dark Arts and other similarly Ministry-banned Arts, but they would be more of an asset than a hindrance. Harry didn't know precisely what he was going to do with all of this new material to work with, but he knew (somewhere deep within him) that nothing would go to waste in his foreseeable future.

And then again, on the other hand, these memories of Hadrian's life were so intertwined with those of his own. Harry would continue to have problems with keeping the two distinct sets apart when addressing another person. He'd have to really think about what he was saying before he ever said a thing, especially when confronted with his co-workers, Ministry personnel and his students.

'_What a hassle_,' is all Harry could manage to think about the situation. Not only did he have to contend with the memories, but also how to keep the other personality (Hadrian's, of course) from surfacing in certain circumstances -- to not draw any unwanted attention to what had happened to him and what he might be up to in the future.

Hadrian's memories began with some rather hazy recollections of his mother (Rowena Ravenclaw), his half-sister (Helena Ravenclaw), Godric Gryffindor, and Helga Hufflepuff. Apparently, Hadrian had overheard how his father (Salazar Slytherin) had raped and kidnapped his mother -- who was found a few months later near Hogsmeade, confused and dazed. Salazar had become the Dark Lord after Gregory Iudicium -- the Dark Lord who had been defeated by Gryffindor and was the prized student of Salazar's (before he became a Dark Lord). Finding all of this out, Hadrian gathered together some of his gear one night and set off to revenge his mother on the supposedly "evil" man known as Salazar Slytherin.

Upon eventually finding the Dark Lord (Hadrian had been about thirteen or fourteen at the time), he'd challenged his father to a duel, stating who he was and his purpose....

"My name is Hadrian Slytherin," the boy told him, his green eyes glittering, his defiant look reminding Salazar greatly of Rowena.

"So, you're the bastard, then, hm? My heir, that is," Salazar clarified, a smirk of triumph spreading across his face. "How do I know? Rowena is the only one I'd ever have possibly made an heir with, you see..." he whispered dangerously.

"_You_," Hadrian growled, his hand on the hilt of his sword, baring his teeth at his father.

"Ever so foolish -- evident of Godric's influence, I presume," the Slytherin interjected, his blood-coloured eyes practically glowing as his illegitimate son backed away slightly, in sheer terror of the Dark Lord before him.

"Godric--" Hadrian began.

"Gryffindor was a _fool_," Salazar finished in a hiss. "He believed that I was slowly become more distant from him until he presumed that I had snapped and finally betrayed his cause and needed to be disposed of --"

"But you raped my mother!" the boy spat back, the anger coming easily, boiling in his veins. He'd always been temperamental (apparently much like his father, if he'd understood Helga correctly) and this interaction with his father was only adding fuel to the fire.

"I wouldn't call it that at all -- she loved me at the time, and she'd loved me long before then -- we had even been engaged at one point. I didn't use any force in getting her to engage in those activities," Salazar explained very frankly.

"Lies!" Hadrian screamed, gripping the hilt tighter.

"What would I gain in lying to my _son_ on the circumstances in which he was conceived?" the elder inquired, an asking demeanour cover his face.

"...Nothing that I can think of," the boy replied, loosening his hold on the sword fractionally.

"You're very handsome, I must say," Salazar commented, assessing the youth a bit closer, arms folded across his chest loosely. "I would have believed that you would rather know more about who you are and who your family is before you attempt to kill of the people willing to tell you the _truth_ about all of it. Or throwing your life away, for that matter. I can tell that you aren't so foolish to rush into things without thinking about the consequences first -- I bet that it took you a week to decide to come after me."

Hesitantly, Hadrian relented, letting the sword drop from his hand, which fell to the ground with a dull _clang_. "You're right; I _would_ like to learn more about myself... like, being able to talk to snakes? Why is it considered so..."

"Dark? Evil?" Salazar suggested, watching as his son nodded his head somewhat eagerly. "Well, I shall teach you, then -- follow me."

After about ten years of Salazar's tutelage, Hadrian had become very knowledgeable about a number of things: from simple charms to deadly curses, healing potions to Dark rituals, his ancestry to his inherited abilities. It was only after twenty-five years or so following Hadrian's flight from Hogwarts that Godric Gryffindor had found his enemy, Salazar Slytherin, and killed him, brutally. Having witnessed Gryffindor's deep, Hadrian confronted the man he once loved as a father....

"_You_," he hissed, drawing out his long white wand as a precaution, his heart pounding in his ears, eyes covered with a reddish film -- the blinding red of rage. "You murdered my father. You had no right to do such an act! What did he do to deserve death so cruel that you gave him?" Hadrian demanded of Godric, who had been taken off-guard by the younger wizard.

"Hadrian, I'm here to _save_ you; this man has indoctrinated you into believing in his horrible fantasies and convince you to follow his insane ideas," the redhead declared, his voice confident.

"_You're wrong_," Hadrian spat, his deep voice low as he picked up the sword his father had dropped, scowling at Gryffindor, who also drew his sword once more.

"Hadrian, _please_, don't do this -- your mother is so worried about you..." Godric managed to get out before the Slytherin assaulted him.

"Is she, now?" he purred, laughing humourlessly, his temper driving him to attack harder, faster, becoming more numb to the pain of the cuts from Gryffindor's blade. "Don't worry, I'll bring your body and that _precious _sword of yours back to my mother and Hufflepuff. Merlin _knows_ she's worried about _you_, hm, Gryffindor?"

"Please, Hadrian," Godric begged, trying to stop the younger and more agile wizard from doing something he would likely regret later. His breathing was heavy and laboured, the pain from the multiple wounds on his face, torso, and arms preventing him from reacting as quickly as he needed to in order to prevent the last, fatal blow.

The Son of Slytherin smiled a horribly wicked smile, his dark eyes glimmering in pleasure, blood splattering and covering his face and robes, staining them as he swung the sword one last time against the man....

"_Harry!_"

With a start, Harry sat up, perspiration covering his face, the act of inspiration becoming a feat in and of itself.

"What?" he gasped, eyes narrowing at the offending company who had woken him from his sleep.

"You were screaming," was Al's reply, worried as he looked upon his father. "Draco -- _I mean_, Professor Malfoy finished the potions," he explained for the blonde, who was busy rearranging Harry in his bed.

"I need to change your sheets. I recommend that you bathe yourself, here," Draco suggested, handing over a dull green potion to Harry nonchalantly. "Drink that so you're even capable of moving," the potions master added with a small shrug and a grin.

"Thank you," he replied, voice soft once more, downing the horrible tasting thing quickly before his taste buds might react and reject it.

Once the potion took effect, Harry clambered out of his bed and strolled to the lavatory, taking a nice, long, relaxing bath.

"I suppose I'll have to live with the fact that I've become Hadrian Slytherin, in a sense," he whispered to the steam-filled room, peering down at his hands, sighing longingly. "Why can't life be simple anymore?"

He knew that from the moment he had pledged that he would follow the Slytherin Code there would be no turning back. But, he wasn't just about to regret that decision -- doing that would only cause him to go through all of this nonsense over again in a new era.

* * *

This chapter is dedicated to: Moogle (Boogum) for some input on the content (even though you were too tired to do "much good", it was awesome advice!); Grae (KouenTaisa) for words that I couldn't think of at all, that was help that I couldn't find anywhere else; to the reviewers; and to the bands: ASP for inspiration on Hadrian's parts, Forever Slave for the mood in the confrontation between Draco and Harry, and to H.I.M. for Draco's... stuff (technical term).

Most of this was from a seperate piece that I was writing on Hadrian (I was thinking of posting it as a companion piece, but I've already included everything I've written of it in here...) that was used in the flashbacks. I'm basing my view of the Founders off an RPG that I did with other fan fiction writers, although I think I explained things well enough. Did I?

Input is greatly appreciated and very wanted at this point. What do you think? Drop your suggestions or comments in a review and it will be carefully dissected and analysed to see if anything will fit in the story. Go ahead and take guesses at the allusions I've been making and I'll answer whatever questions you have.

Oh, and _please_ check out the poll on my profile -- dealing with pairings for Hadrian/Harry. If you would like to, reviewing with your choice is also fine.


	9. Live By the Code

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 9: Live By the Code_**

Another week had passed and it was Harry's first day back at teaching. It had been a horrible week, to say the least – he'd constantly been reliving his past life every night, despite the Dreamless Sleep potions that Draco gave him. There was nothing that he could do about how his mind was integrating this additional information into what he was. The outbursts of irrational anger and hatred had diminished greatly in that week, earning numerous sighs of relief from Draco and Albus, and a much more relaxed feel back to Harry's life.

While Harry had maintained a much more mellow perspective, the integration of Hadrian's personality into his own proved to be much easier than he'd originally thought the process would be. Apparently, Hadrian was much like Harry in a number of ways that the Slytherin Heir had thought least likely and nearly impossible. It wasn't too strange, though, when he thought about how his current life was essentially a reincarnation of Hadrian's. Due to the rarity of the soul's splitting, in his previous lives, the original memories and the current were never mixed and therefore were the reason why he could only remember their presence, no actual memories or experiences.

It was only because of the mere fact that Hadrian had not fully embarrassed what he was to do and become under the command of the Slytherin Code that his soul was reborn. He was cursed to play out this cycle until he did it the proper way, according to the text, one way or another. While it was true that Hadrian Slytherin had become a Dark Lord known for his invention of the Cruciatus curse and responsible for the deaths of many, including Godric Gryffindor and Helga Hufflepuff, the man had immense guilt on leaving his mother, Rowena Ravenclaw. Hadrian knew that he'd see her again, but when he did, the spite and distaste present in his mother's eyes was enough to send him reeling.

Because of his duty to his late father, Hadrian dedicated himself to the Dark Arts and the studies of Necromancy and other now-forbidden and forgotten arts of magic. He did not actively seek anything as Grindelwald and Voldemort had, but was merely acting upon his pact with his father. This pact that Hadrian had made when he was seventeen was to extend to his own son and their sons – due to this, Hadrian felt compelled to write this Code down, eventually becoming what was known as the Slytherin Code.

Even though Harry was having some trouble grasping the entirety of the Code, he was more perplexed how a man as dark and corrupted as Hadrian Slytherin could have broken it in such a trivial manner to be cursed to being reborn again and again until he fully and whole-heartedly followed every clause of that Code. It seemed to Harry, after analyzing Hadrian's memories, that it was not what he did, but how he applied himself to what he did. For the Slytherin Heirs such as Voldemort and Hadrian's son, Christoff, there was not much internal conflict and followed the Code completely and knowingly. However, it was Hadrian –who was believed to be nearly as cruel and heartless as Salazar Slytherin, himself, and Voldemort -- that stumbled on something so trifle as regret for his mother.

Upon realizing this, Harry knew that he could succeed where he (in his previous life) had not: it was simple; he had never met his mother, except through the Resurrection Ring. This mere detail was likely going to allow his soul to finally rest, at last, once he followed through with the rest of the Code. This idea was ludicrous to Harry, who couldn't imagine how such a thing would play such a heavy role in deciding the fate of his soul.

"Harry?" Draco asked, sitting down by his friend in the Great Hall. "Are you feeling well?"

The ebony-haired wizard shook himself out of his thoughts and turned his attention to the Malfoy sitting adjacent to him, now, at the table. "I am feeling… at ease," he replied, voice deeper than normal, resting his chin on his hand, propping himself up to watch the students trickle in through the doors. "Surprisingly, of course – I thought it would take much longer to get over that bout of Dragon Pox."

"I can understand," Draco replied, a secretive grin unraveling on his face, his silvery eyes dancing in the candlelight. "How did your classes go today? Well, I hope."

"They certainly did have their challenges, but they were easily overcome," he explained, a lazy, more sadistic smirk presenting itself on his lips when addressing Draco. "I am glad that you have finally stopped jumping at every little thing I do, however, and for that, I am grateful. It has made my life that much more livable."

"Ah," Draco responded, turning his attention to the Gryffindors who were peering at them curiously. "I have a feeling that the rumours about the two of us have only intensified during your sickness, Harry."

"Splendid," the man grumbled, sitting straight in his chair again, watching the students, the Gryffindors especially, a little more closely. "It seems that Albus and Scorpius have also been subjected to this rumour – which is worse than the existence of the rumours circling about us. They are merely children, can no one else see this?"

"The world today doesn't discriminate children from the realm of adults very well, when it comes to these things," the blonde drawled, scowling at nothing in particular.

Harry straightened his robes as Neville Longbottom made his way to sit next to Harry, knowing the first thing that would be out of the man's mouth was going to be his condition. When the Herbology professor sat down and opened his mouth, Harry pulled a quick draw: "I'm doing just _fine_, Neville – thank you for your concern."

"Oh… well," he stumbled, a bit shocked at the sudden response from his old friend. "I was going to say that you almost look like a totally different person with your hair that way and the goatee."

Taken aback by the comment, it took Harry a minute to process and come up with an appropriate response to Neville. "Does it? I just wanted to go for something different, that's all," he told him, rather candidly, grinning a bit superficially.

"I suppose that it looks nice on you, Harry," he apprised, smiling back, turning to face the crowd of students.

Their relationship had been rather shaky after Harry had refused the Head of Gryffindor position for the third time and the finalization of the divorce. Not that Harry was interested in pursuing such a relationship with someone so dedicated to the Light's cause anymore. Before he'd begun to frequent Draco's company so often, Neville and he had become rather close – closer than he was to Ron, after so long.

Now, however, Harry preferred the sole company of Draco Malfoy, appearing to be rather strange to the wizarding community, beginning to spread rumours that had escalated into rather vicious ones the last few years. To say that the whole thing was downright bloody annoying and pointless speculation of the rest of the wizarding world was an understatement. Salazar had little to say about the situation, although he did confess to having similar things said about him and Godric before he left Hogwarts.

Dinner was a rather dull affair; Fudge announcing the coming up events and his usual rambles to the students, Percy watching in adoration the whole while. It never ceased to amuse Draco how the Weasely would be so enthralled with such a stupid and idiotic man as Fudge was. Scorpius waved to Harry from the Slytherin table, grinning widely when Albus nudged him in the ribs, then resumed his chatter with his friend. Daphne Greengrass attempted to ask Draco for a private party that she was hosting in a week from then, which was declined in a polite manner. Following the headmaster's dismissal, Harry and Draco quickly slipped out of the Great Hall, heading down to Draco's rooms.

"You know, if you don't start going out with a woman rather soon, the rumours will only be thought to be true," Harry reminded his friend, a smirk evident on his lips.

"So be it, then," the blonde retorted, snorting at the absurdity of it. "And you're not going out with any woman, either – instead, you follow me around like a lost puppy."

"I believe that you're the one following _me_, my dear _fautor_," Harry reminded, his eyes gleaming darkly, the pitch of his voice down an octave than normal, peering over his glasses lazily at Draco watching for a reaction.

"I beg to differ – we're going into the dungeons to _my_ rooms, remember, Harry?" Draco replied sarcastically, giving the password to the proper portrait that lead to his rooms. "But I'm sure that you don't consider than following, though, since you know my password already."

"Correct," Harry agreed, nodding slightly, sitting himself down in one of the plush gray chairs around the fire pit. "Shall we continue our discussion with Salazar, then, now that we're alone?"

A while later, towards midnight, Salazar changed the topic, facing Harry, his Heir, crimson eyes looking directly into dark emeralds.

"You've become much better at controlling yourself rather quickly – I'm surprised, and yet, what else would I expect from you, Hadrian?" he announced, a mischievous look on his face.

"After all that you've taught me, I doubt there should be anything that you don't expect of me," Hadrian corrected, pulling the black tie out of his hair, setting it down on the nearby table. "_Besides, is there anything I cannot do, now that I have become the Master of Death?_" he hissed in Parsletongue, an odd light flickering in his dark eyes.

Salazar's eyebrows shot up, "You finally completed them, then?"

"Yes, it was what allowed me to regain my memories of my previous life, in fact – I thought I told you this a few nights prior?" Hadrian wondered, skeptical of Salazar's response. "No matter, I believe it is time for us to retire – I will tell you of anything non-life-altering tomorrow night, Father."

With that, the Founder nodded his head solemnly and the ghostly form evaporated, leaving a small amount of mist behind, which quickly dissipated. Harry stood a bit shakily, running a hand through his longer hair, righting himself then letting his gaze settle on Draco.

"Yes, Harry?"

"I don't think I have enough energy to mount the climb to my own rooms tonight, Draco," he admitted, sitting back down in the comfortable chair he'd made himself at home in just a few hours earlier. "You don't mind me staying here for the night, do you?"

"Not at all. Where do you plan on sleeping, though?" Draco asked, having a sneaking suspicion that the future Dark Lord was going to kick him out of his bed – as if he'd let that happen, the threat of Cruciatus or not.

"Oh, is it like that, then?" Harry questioned, eyebrows lifted, shocked that his second would truly stand up to him on such a trivial matter. "Well, I won't boot you – you'll just have to learn how to share, that's all," he said, examining his nails as if the issue was solved so simply.

Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing; Harry Potter just asked him, Draco Malfoy, to sleep with him, in the same bed. Granted, this wasn't something that would normally happen, nor was it anything like what the rest of the wizarding world believed it to be.

"_Dear Draco!_ You should see yourself!" the younger man laughed, uncaring of the fierce blush that crept across the Malfoy's face. "You fancy me, then? Is that why you don't fuss about those horrible lies?" he queried, disbelieving.

"I don't _fancy_ you, Potter," he spat, crossing his arms, the tinge of colour still present in his cheeks, making his face burn uncomfortably.

"If you say so," Harry allowed, managing to pull himself up out of the chair and getting ready for bed, sauntering into Draco's room and making himself at ease, falling asleep faster and deeper than he had in the recent week.

"Good night, Harry," Draco whispered, sliding under the covers, watching his Lord's face in the dim dungeon light, smiling. "You have no idea, do you?" he breathed, laughing to himself as he turned himself to face away from Harry.

* * *

Well, this was a kind of filler chapter, of sorts and it's rather short -- I'm sorry. It was written rather quickly, but I couldn't think of any other way to advance the story, other than to take a beark from the heavy stuff and explaining a bit of the dynamics associated with the different characters.

Thanks again to my reviewers, Boogum and KouenTaisa (although neither of them contributed to this chapter, shockingly!) and to ASP and ForeverSlave for inspirational music.

Don't forget to vote on the pairing on the poll on my profile or through a review. Input is always welcomed.


	10. Degrees of Corruption

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 10: Degrees of Corruption_**

Harry awoke to find himself surrounded by silk -- green silk with silver trim, to be exact. '_Very Slytherin_,' was his first thought. His second thought sprang upon him when peering at the nearby clock: '_Oh, bloody hell, I'm going to be late for class!_"

The wizard rushed to hastily shed his night clothes, replacing them with fresh undergarments, socks, a tunic, leggings, and his boots (all of his clothing, he noted, was black, assorted shades of green and grey -- he didn't even want to think about what that meant), gathering his books and shoving a quill and a bottle of ink into the inner pocket of his robes, rushing out of the dorms like a bat out of hell. He ran as fast as his thin frame would allow, knowing he'd be late to his class with Godric.

"Wait..." he breathed, stopping in his tracks, hurriedly glancing around himself, confused, then kicked himself. "I haven't got the time for this nonsense!" he berated himself and continued running down the hallway to the classroom, robes billowing behind him as he ran.

Swinging open the door, Harry noticed every single pair or eyes was fixated on him, scrutinizing him.

"You are nearly twenty minutes late, Master Slytherin -- detention tonight, here, after dinner, and twenty points from the Slytherin House for each minute," the redheaded professor detailed, scorn in his voice and eyes.

Hesitantly, Harry sat down in the seat next to his fellow Slytherin, Alexander Malfoy, who scowled at him something fierce, seeming to say, '_way to go, just another reason to loose points_' with his eyes.

The green-eyed wizard mouthed a '_sorry_' at his blonde friend, trying to calm himself down, taking out the quill and ink from his robes, and the parchment from the inside of one of his textbooks, beginning to copy off of Alexander's notes from what he'd missed, hating the lesson in Transfiguration already.

"What's with Gryffindor?" Harry asked of his friend once the class was dismissed.

"It seems as though it would have something to do with your mother, Hadrian," Alexander replied, his bright blue eyes assessing Hadrian closely. "You had another bout of insomnia, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Hadrian admitted with a sigh. "I can not believe that you failed to wake me, Alexander."

"Believe me, I tried -- you sleep like a rock."

"Like I truly believe tha--" Hadrian's retort began, cutting himself off. "I need to go see my mother," he determined, taking off, leaving his friend alone in the hallway.

"See you later," the Malfoy called, far too used to Hadrian's quirks to be stunned any more.

When Hadrian arrived outside of his mother's door, he heard talking behind the door, which kept him from knocking....

"_Rowena! You must keep that boy of yours in line better. He's exactly like Salazar was; uses the excuse of insomnia as a reason he's allowed to be late to classes, defiant to adults, breaking all sorts of rules--!_" Godric seethed, very aggravated by the Ravenclaw woman.

"_It's not my fault that you cannot control such a child, Gryffindor. Don't forget that _you _are the one playing the role of his father and you've helped me raise him from the beginning,_" came Rowena's sharp retort.

"_How can you stand having him be so much like Salazar, after all he did to you?!_"

"_Hadrian is my son, no matter who his father is -- and how can I stop him from being who he is? You said it yourself: he's defiant -- he's at that age, you must realize._"

"_I suppose, but really, Rowena.... Slytherin _raped _you and yet you keep his child and let him go down nearly the same path as his father tread._"

Beginning to be sick to his stomach, Hadrian pushed off of the wall, running to his dorm room, shutting himself in. What on earth was Gryffindor talking about? He'd thought his father was _dead_....

A year later found Hadrian studying in a dark cave in the mountains of the North with his father, learning about how to cast moderately hard curses and charms. It'd been a rather rough year after Hadrian had finally confronted his father, gaining much more than he had expected to: he'd set out to kill this man he'd believed to be unbelievably cruel and horrible, only to find out that his father wasn't at all like what he'd heard. The young man had taken well to the way Salazar taught him -- no wonder the other, newer professors always revered him, despite becoming a Dark Lord. No one would be able to catch Godric saying anything positive about the Slytherin founder, however, since he'd felt betrayed -- that was his father's explanation, at least.

In the beginning, Hadrian was taught the basics of charms and some other helpful spells that weren't in the curriculum at Hogwarts any longer -- likely due to his father's leaving the school. After proving his ability to perform these particular spells, Salazar began adding hexes and low-level curses to the mix, providing ample time for Hadrian to practice and commit them all to memory before moving onto much more interesting and slightly more complicated magic.

At last, after much anticipation, Hadrian's father finally introduced him to borderline Dark Arts, which were often considered more beneficial than they did harm, although they were most often grouped with the more unfriendly spells due to the nature of their creation and implementation. Hadrian couldn't help the deep-seated feeling of wanting to learn more and more as Salazar gave him more texts to read about spells and theories.....

It was with this horrible burning in the innermost part of his being that the Slytherin Heir woke to the real world, confused and lost. "Oh, Merlin," Harry moaned, clenching his teeth to fight off the temptation he was faced with. "_What did you do to me, Malfoy!?_" he demanded, eyes blazing darkly in the dungeon light.

"I would ask Salazar," the blonde replied, fully dressed, drinking a cup of tea comfortably in the chair near the bed. "After all, he was the one that gave me the ingredients to the potion."

"My _father_?" he mouthed, groaning, lying back down in the bed. "What does he want?" he grumbled, sneering at the ceiling.

"Why don't you ask him yourself?" Draco snorted in reply, his tone not nearly as harsh as normal, as he preferred to stay mentally sane. Followed by a fierce glare from his master, the blonde sighed and admitted: "He did say something about wanting to make you remember what's important."

"Hn," Harry retorted, frowning. "Will this happen every night?" he asked instead of returning with one of the many slights at his follower.

Draco nodded curtly, meeting Harry's eyes, his silver ones not daring to express any sort of emotion. "Yes," he said, simply, returning to straightening his book shelves, reordering the books.

The Slytherin Heir's eyes blazed with darkness as he stared back at his _fautor_, seething with repressed anger. "I won't let you get away with this, unpunished, Malfoy," he hissed, rising out of the bed, striding over to the washroom after gathering his teaching robes.

* * *

Night surrounded them, engulfing them completely, only a tall, dark robed man stood in the clearing, his bloody lips forming into a thin smile, showing a flash of teeth in the pale moonlight. Soon, others (similarly dressed) came closer, bowing to the man in the centre. After a few minutes, he addressed the crowd:

"My dear _fautor_, you have come here tonight for a reason and I bring you joyous news," he announced, motioning to the men before him with his long hands, gracefully, his voice deep and strong. "Behold, we have succeeded in the slaughter of two of our worst enemies: Ronald Weasely and his sister, Ginerva."

Upon hearing such an announcement, the gathered congregation whispered excitedly, their faces alight with wicked smiles. Their leader's countenance similarly twisted into a sadistic smirk, his black eyes gleaming in pleasure, recalling the screams he'd wrung out of the two siblings, killing them slowly. First, he'd used a rather interesting spell he'd learned in his 6th year in school, cutting their skin and muscles to shreds with the Elder Wand's power, blood splattering across the Chamber's floor. After drinking in the sight and screams of the two pleading for their lives, the Slytherin Heir had raised his wand once more to cast _his_ spell, his smile twisting into a rather insane look, his eyes the reflecting the colour of the blood flowing like rivers in the grooves of the stones....

* * *

"_Ginny!!_" Harry screamed, waking to find himself covered in sweat, his breath coming in short gasps. "Oh, Merlin," he whispered, looking around himself, paling as the others in the room stared at him. "I'm sorry," Harry began, straightening himself in his chair.

"P-professor, a-are you... you all right?" came a voice, weak and afraid, but much too close to him.

"I think I will be," he muttered, standing shakily, trying to move through the crowd of students that were hovering around him. Harry needed air desperately, feeling very claustrophobic at the moment, nearly about to faint. "Please, let me..." he panted, the world spinning around him, making him close his eyes temporarily, "I need air... _please_."

Whispers of "_Professor?_" and "_Is he going to be okay?_" floated to his ears, making him desire freedom from the mob even more desperate and fierce.

"Get away!" Harry hissed at the lot of them, his head spinning, opening his eyes to glare at the students. Smith was the only one that was still in his seat, as always, watching in mild curiosity, relaxed in his chair, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

Once Harry's eyes met the Slytherin boy's, he couldn't help but relaxing as memories of days lying in the grass practicing quidditch came to his mind. Realizing what he was doing, the older wizard shook himself, shoving the students out of his way as he raced into the hallway, spilling the contents of his stomach onto the stones, one hand steadying himself against the wall with one hand. Harry spelled the mess away quickly with a mutter of a spell, cursing himself, forcing his legs to move in the direction of the nearest empty room or bathroom. Before he got another meter away from the door to his classroom, the world spun once again, weakness spreading throughout his body, blackness overtaking him.

* * *

"_You bloody fool_," Malfoy growled, looking down at him, the scowl evident of his displeasure with his lord. "You took too much of the potion," he explained, crossing his arms, glaring at Harry.

"Ugh, wha...?" the green-eyed wizard grumbled, sitting up cautiously.

"It was all a nightmare," he told Harry, holding out a mug with a rather suspicious-looking, thick liquid in it for the other man to take. "You did manage to stay rather calm despite that, though," the blonde commented, somewhat impressed.

"...You mean... Ginny's still alive?" he murmured, eyes widening, remembering all that he'd done to her in his nightmare -- all the blood.

Was it wrong for him to be so excited over imagining such a scene? Harry began fearing that the part of him that was Hadrian was too easily consuming him, much too fast, corrupting him more than he felt necessary. After all, he wasn't yet ready to become a Dark Lord quite yet. Fear of turning into something much like Voldemort was more realistic than ever before, the echo of red eyes from his dream flashing before him.

"What are you asking--" Draco began to ask when realization hit him, taken aback. "_You mean, you_...?"

"Yeah," he whispered, feeling worlds apart, taking the potion angrily from the Potion's Master, downing it with some effort. "I didn't think that such a potion could do such a thing," Harry mumbled, a bit dizzy.

"No wonder you took too much," Draco remarked, mostly to himself, taking the cup back from the brunette, cradling it in his pale hands, examining it, feeling dazed. To think that his master would dream of such things so soon? And for it to be easily shaken off as it had been.... It was a sign that it wouldn't be too long until Salazar would get his answer.

* * *

Well, this was an interesting chapter, yes? I got stuck on the middle, wondering how I should continue, not wanting the entire chapter being Hadrian's summery account of his life, of course -- that'd be rather dull. Thank you to Moggle (Boogum) and Grae (KouenTaisa) for ideas and to the bands: ASP, Edge of Dawn, and Within Temptation for inspiration.

The voting for pairings is over: Daphne is the winner! I have begun plotting on how the Draco-obsessed professor will eventually be tempted by our future Dark Lord and will likely make its beginning in either the next chapter or the twelfth. I have put up links to some drawings I have done of Hadrian, Salazar, and Harry, if you'd like to get an idea of how I envision them.

Tell me what you think of this chapter and whatever ideas you have for me, as always. Questions are always welcomed, as well, and I will do my best to get back to you on them.


	11. Crimson Coloured

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

**_Chapter 11: Crimson Coloured_**

The sixth years' class went off without fail, much to Harry's pleasure, especially after his nightmares the night before. So, after dismissing his class, it was surprising to find Kaleb Smith staying behind, rather quite and withdrawn -- more so than usual, at least.

"Professor," he whispered, little more than a breath.

"Yes, Mr. Smith?" Harry replied, being as gentle but direct as possible with his Slytherin student.

"I was wondering if Professor Malfoy is as excellent at Potions as he's made out to be?" the young man asked, staring directly into Harry's eyes with his pale blue orbs. Those piercing eyes reminded Harry much of the night before, his nightmare.

"He most certainly is, Mr. Smith. May I ask you what you'll be requiring of him?" he questioned in return, searching for answers in those eyes, not going to far with his investigation, however, to be pulled into other memories, no matter how curious he was. Harry had gotten enough trouble with Snape before on this certain issue.

"I just wanted to know if he could give me a potion for my sleep," the tall boy stated, not giving much away in his voice, but Harry could tell what this was about. How he'd longed for some when he'd faced Voldemort those many years ago, but it was nothing nearly as bad as having problems with your own mother and father.

"Of course," Harry concurred, nodding his head slightly, backing the last of his things away for lunch. "I'll make sure to arrange something with him for you, Mr. Smith. Have a good weekend."

"Thank you, Professor," Kaleb replied, smiling slightly, leaving the room swiftly, no emotion betraying him.

This was a rather interesting turn of events for the Defence professor, to tell the truth of the matter. Draco was going to be shocked with the revelation that his most prized Slytherin student was also the most troubled, of sorts -- no one had expected such a thing of such a man as the Hufflepuff Head, Zacharias Smith....

* * *

The longing he'd felt the previous night was nothing compared to the seduction of the power Hadrian felt when his father introduced him to the art of killing a man when he was in the seventeenth winter of his life. The Killing Curse itself was wonderfully conceived: a brilliant arch of green came from his wand at last, striking his opponent to the snow-covered ground, a stunned look on his dark face.

"_Hadrian, don't get too carried away_," Salazar warned him with a hiss, his hands placed on his son's shoulders, who was getting to be nearly as tall as he was.

"_I won't, Father_," Hadrian replied, the twisted smile still etched into his expression, his green eyes dancing in the light reflected off of the snow, dully.

Corruption was slowly consuming the boy and Salazar was rather pleased with the progress they were making. It was just a few years ago that this young man was determined to kill his father, without much hesitation, until he found out the truth, of course. Now, the boy was beginning to see the reasoning of his father's action and implementing them himself. This encouraged Salazar to keep feeding his son information about spells and curses; soon, when Hadrian mastered a good portion of the spells that Salazar set out for him, he would begin to introduce potions and ultimately, some rather dark rituals to expand one's magic and make the boy much more powerful.

While Hadrian knew that his father had much more planned for him, he couldn't imagine what it might be that the Slytherin would have in store for him next. Was there something more interesting and powerful than the Killing Curse? Hadrian couldn't imagine what it would be, since ending someone's life was one of the worst sins a person could commit.

Over the next few years, Hadrian realized something important: the people that he was killing weren't innocents, not in the slightest -- they were evil, cruel men that stoned wizards and set fire to the wives and helpless children of rumoured wizards, among many other things that Hadrian and his father had witnessed in their life time. Muggles were often thoughtless people, barbarians, at the best, in Hadrian's opinion, from what he'd seen with his own eyes. They all deserved to be murdered and humiliated, cast into the flames of Hell.

Such a fiery rage overtook the young wizard on the days he and his father raided a muggle village, causing him to lash out and attack the every target in his range with such a passionate cry of some assorted curses, first. Slowly torturing them, his twisted grin distorted even further, thinking of nothing other than making these bastards suffer for their wrong-doings. Hadrian soon began to love the sight of blood pooling down at his feet, flowing from his victims, sometimes splattering his robes, staining them crimson over again, coating his face with the liquid.

After just a few minutes, nearly every Muggle in the village had become hunks of meat, strewn about with massive amounts of blood tarnishing the snow. Hadrian had become so covered in his death dance that even his dishevelled hair was sufficiently coated with enough blood to fill a child, his eyes beginning to take on an eerie glow that made him look much like a monster straight from Hades. Salazar was watching on the sidelines, his eyes narrowing when his son made his way into a hut that a man just a few years older than Hadrian had been guarding the entrance to.

However, before he could finish off every last one of the villagers, a small child whimpering in the corner, Salazar seized him, shaking him, making Hadrian come to his senses before he killed a true innocent.

"Hadrian!" Salazar barked, seething with anger. "What did this child do to deserve such wrath?"

Panting wildly, shaking himself, Hadrian wiped the blood from his face with his sleeve, examining it for a second, then directing his attention to his father. "Nothing; but it'll turn into a bloody monster, father! If we don't kill it now, it'll just end up murdering countless of our kind! We shan't allow it to even get a chance to even _touch_ one of us!" he determined, fighting against his father's hold.

"_You will not disobey me, boy,_" Slytherin hissed in a dangerous whisper, casting a spell to bind his son, taking away his wand forcefully, relentlessly. "This will be the end of these raids, for now, until you learn how to control yourself."

"I can control myself!" Hadrian protested, struggling a little, but knowing it was pointless to do so, giving up after a minute. He couldn't believe that his father was denying him the pleasure of slaughtering every last one of those bloody worthless creatures that Gryffindor had held up so high. After all, Salazar's sister had been a victim of those Muggles, burnt at the stake when he was just ten years old. Hadrian couldn't imagine how horrible it had felt for his father when he'd found out that his sister would never come back, all because of those Muggles!

* * *

Harry awoke, groaning, wanting nothing more than to be rid of these memories. It'd been a week of them, now, and he was beginning to wake up hating the world before the day had even begun. To him, it was just evidence that Hadrian was slowly overtaking him, becoming the more dominant force in him, too much, in Harry's opinion, but there wasn't much he could do about it, at this point.

"Good morning, Dad," Al greeted him from his doorway. "I thought it would be nice if we could go out and do something today? I don't feel much like going to Hogsmeade."

"What about Scorpius?" Harry wondered aloud, untangling himself from the sheets, managing to stand on the floor without incident. "Is he coming too, or has he gotten himself a girlfriend?"

"No, he's coming, don't worry," Al said, grinning widely, appearing to be up to something. "I don't think he'll ever manage to get a girlfriend, with the way that he is, obsessing over his homework and those books."

"Tell me, why the sudden urge to go out?"

"Oh, no particular reason," the Slytherin boy assured his father, still grinning innocently.

Rolling his eyes, Harry nodded, getting his robes together for the day ahead of him, soon dragging Albus down to the dungeons to meet with Draco and his son.

* * *

"Dad," Albus called, tugging on his father's sleeve, startling the man into the realm of the living again. "You were daydreaming again -- something to do with Professor Malfoy, perhaps?" he sniggered, smirking widely at the reaction he earned from Harry.

"You...!" Harry growled, after processing what his son just implied. "No respect for me, I see. Maybe I should just send you back to your mother."

"No!" he breathed, trying to distinguish if Harry was joking or not. "Really, please, don't?"

Harry turned to Al, smiling widely. "I won't, as long as you don't continue this bad behaviour of yours -- five points from Slytherin."

"But, we're not at school right now!" Al debated, scowling, looking to Scorpius, who shrugged.

"It doesn't excuse your actions, Mr. Potter," Draco drawled, smirking in return at the two boys, leaning against Harry, a little too close for comfort. "Don't you agree, Harry?"

"I thought you said you weren't interested in me, Malfoy," he accused, brushing off the hand from his shoulder, turning back to his son. "Fueling the rumours shouldn't be your goal -- after all, with the two of you hanging out together so much, the rumours are bound to get nasty."

Al nodded, but his characteristic grin quickly came back to his face, yanking Scorpius away from the adults, calling back over his shoulder, "We're going to get some ice cream, then!"

"We're not really going to get ice cream, are we," Scorpius stated, catching the look in his friend's eyes. He didn't need an answer to know that they were headed off to Knocturn Ally. "If we get caught, we're going to be in _so_ much trouble," he muttered, having no choice but to follow Al, if just to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble.

The two wandered into Borgin and Burkes, Albus in awe at the dusty books and items surrounding him in the shop, the taller blonde peering around the shop, making sure nothing was out to get them first, before he let himself look for anything interesting.

"Hey, Scorp, I found something cool," Albus announced softly, waving over to his suspicious friend. He was flipping through an old book that had first caught his interest. "Take a look at this! It's ancient, but I think this is what we've been searching for."

"Which one?" Scorpius returned, raising his eyebrows at his friend, pushing his rectangular glasses up his thin nose, sneering at the state the text was in. ".... _Histories_?" he asked, reading as much of the title on the cover that was still legible.

"I think so, there's a bit here about the Cruciatus curse..." Al mumbled, pointing to it as he read along, squinting. "Some of this needs some restoration spells," he huffed, shutting the book carefully. "Find anything, yet?"

"No, I was too busy making sure that there was no one out to kill you, knowing who you are, after all," he told Al, sighing. "I suppose I'll take a gander."

Al held onto the book he'd already picked out, glancing at the other titles. "We'd better hurry up, if we don't want to get found out," he told Scorpius, coming up next to him, looking at the titles on the shelf before the two of them.

"Yeah, just let me find one -- it's not too often we get to come here, you know," he grumbled, spotting a red-leather cover that appeared to be rather intriguing. Pulling it down off the shelf after a bit of trouble, Scorpius blew the dust off, then quickly flipped through the pages. "This is it," he decided, taking the other book from Al, going up to the counter with the two books. They had this down by now: Scorpius paid for the books with both of their money, saying that they were for his father -- not suspicious at all, really.

The shop keeper didn't question the teenager, shrinking the two books for Scorpius after he'd paid for them in full, which he put in his inner robe pocket, thanking the man as he left.

Grinning at each other, the two made their way back to Diagon Ally, where they met back up with their fathers and continued their shopping. Harry could tell there was something off about the two boys, but couldn't quite pin it down, they were still well and unharmed, although they appeared much more content with themselves than before. He shrugged it off, putting it in the back of his mind to examine later that day. The boys' absence had been perfect to talk to Draco about something he'd been considering lately.

* * *

At dinner, things took on a much different turn, when Harry had interrupted Draco and Daphne's nightly conversation, just before Draco was going to turn the woman down once again.

"What was that you said?" Daphne Greengrass questioned, shocked more than anything else by the man's response to her inquiry.

"I'll volunteer to take his place this time, since he has become so very busy over the last few weeks, my dear," Hadrian purred in a deep, appealing draw, his lips drawn into a somewhat polite smile.

Still rather confused by the proposal, the Arithmacy professor nodded. "I suppose that it will be acceptable -- only two years ago, you must realize, Potter, I would never have imagined myself ever agreeing to do such a thing with you. Don't forget it, either. It's only because of Draco's wonderful influence that you've become so well adjusted to being a wizard in the first place."

"I'm pleased to lend my assistance in this matter, my dear lady," he replied, smirking at the reminder. "Draco has most certainly been a wonderful help with learning proper customs. I shall meet you by the lake tomorrow night, then, for the affair?"

"That will be just fine, Potter, but don't expect a warm welcome from the other guests," he warned, eyeing him closely.

* * *

Somewhat of a filler chapter, but it got some things done. I was having some trouble with out to begin, which scene I should start with: Hadrian, Daphne, or Kaleb. But once I decided and really started fleshing out these scenes, then tied them together, it wasn't so bad getting the rest of the chapter done. As for the rating change, I thought it would be best, seeing the direction that Hadrian's memories are taking, which will become a rather steady thing, throughout the next few chapters.

Thank you to Moogle (Boogum) and Grae (KouenTaisa) for being able to bounce some ideas off you both and getting some inspiration. Also, thanks to Ashbury Heights, The 69 Eyes, and Edge of Dawn for lending their musical talents to my inspiration-deprived mind. Finally, thank you to my reviewers -- the ever faithfuls and to my readers.

As always, questions are welcomed (and answered as quickly as I can manage) as well as some suggestions for the next chapters. Please review -- it's greatly appreciated.


	12. The Darkness

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

_Chapter 12: The Darkness_

"You're kidding me, right, Potter?" Draco ground out, seething, although he tried his best at controlling his anger in front of his master.

Harry merely shook his head, smiling his twisted smile that foretold Hadrian's malicious reappearance. "I am not, dear _fautor_. As my father might have forewarned you, I'm not quite the same person I used to be, after reliving all of those memories. And it's all thanks to your wonderful potions, might I add."

Draco seemed as though he regretted this in the slightest for a second, but recovered easily, shaking the whole thing off as if it were nothing. "I apologize for--"

"No need, Draco – as long as you follow my orders on what I want you to do with Daphne, things will be just swell in the end," he whispered, baring his teeth in a devilish grin.

* * *

"I'm pleased that you would meet me instead of Draco – he's so terribly busy once more," Harry told the witch that was sitting across from him, smiling in earnest, nothing of the beast that lingered in the shadows showed itself in such a public setting.

"You should be glad that I'm willing to be _seen _with you, Potter," Professor Greengrass recanted, sneering at the man who was escorting her to her seat. "At least you're dressed well," she commented – the first complimentary thing that she'd said the entire evening to Harry, and likely the only thing, too.

"Anything that would please you, my dear," he replied, pulling her chair out for her, then taking his own seat across from her, grinning at the waiter, who was ready to take down their drink orders.

Dinner was a lovely affair, with no interruptions, to Harry's great pleasure. The first time wasn't much of a success, since Daphne managed to flitted out of his grasp every time that he thought he had a grip on her. When he'd gotten back to Draco's rooms that night, he'd been in a terrible mood and even cursed the Malfoy when he got too far out of hand by suggesting that Daphne "just wasn't that interested" in him. Draco had once again learned the importance of keeping silent, least he welcome more wrath from his Lord.

Once dinner was over and Daphne settled back in her rooms, Harry managed to make his way back to his own rooms – he didn't even want to bother with his bloody annoying second tonight, for what it was worth. Just one night without those blasted potions would be restful, at the least. Of course, as he drifted off to sleep, the beginnings of other, much more grotesque nightmares stemming from his unconscious mind told him that it would have almost been better to take the potions from Draco and just get it all over with sooner. But once he fell into the dream, he couldn't shake himself from it, no matter how he tried....

"_You bloody bastard!_" Granger screamed at him, her once appealing face distorted in horrible anger. "How could you dare show your face here, after all you've done?!" she demanded of him, struggling against the robes that bound her to the poll.

"Ah, dear woman," Hadrian hissed, his blood red eyes the only thing that shown in the darkness of his cloak. It seemed as if the darkness itself was alive behind him, threatening to swallow Hermione whole as he moved closer to her, supposedly to inspect her a little closer. "You don't seem to know quite the extent of what _exactly _I've done, do you?" he asked, his strangely sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light.

"No!" she ground out.

"Yes, _yes_," he purred, his deep voice lined with something that was nothing near or to be considered emotion – not in the slightest. In fact, Hadrian was anticipating the beaten, battered and bloody woman before him to address such a thing.

"You've made a deal with the _devil_, that's what!"

"Not at all – I'm merely becoming what I used to be – a previous life, so to say," Hadrian told her, Harry's voice admitting this semi-truth to the person who he used to consider one of his closest friends.

"Then you've become a hollow shell of what you used to be, Harry!" Hermione Granger managed to spit at him.

He pulled his black cape away from her grovelling figure, sneering at her, baring his teeth, no longer in a false impression of a smile, but menacingly spiteful and full of rage and the urge to tear her apart, and revel in the blood and the gore that would spew from her. "I do not pity what will become of you, at all, _witch_."

"You know that he'll come after you, once he hears that I'm dead--"

"I'll let you believe that. The thing is," he continued, his face contorting in the darkness into seeming madness, "you won't be _dead, _my dear – not for a long, long time," he promised her. "I will give you a slow, painful death that I will cherish and enjoy so very much over the next few months."

"God give me mercy!" she wept, pure anguish radiating off of her, tears spilling down her dirty, bruised face.

"There is no god in this place – even Merlin would have condemned this place, had he known it would exist. No one will help you here," Hadrian whispered, slowly pulling off his robes, showing his pale white arms, the veins running through the muscles below the flesh appearing to be black in the poor light that lit the dungeons.

"You really have made a deal with the devil," she whimpered, nearly choking on her own tears.

"Not the _devil_, per say," he chuckled, baring his teeth once again as he pulled out the Elder Wand, calling forth the darkness itself to unleash its wrath upon his helpless victim....

Screaming, Harry woke to Draco's face, among all other things.

"You should've just taken the potion," he reminded, frowning very disapprovingly.

"I know," Harry groaned, sweat covering his face, tears poring down his face, weeping for his friend. "I still can't believe that I can think of doing these things to someone I used to know and love so dearly."

"She deserves it," Draco said, attempting to be the voice of reason in such a chaotic world that was now Harry's.

"Probably," he agreed, the tears beginning to dry, his mind finally forcing himself back into his usual habit. "Do you know of a spell that would conjure the darkness itself?" Harry wondered, his eyes now glowing with curiosity.

"Not without much sacrifice, some would say that you must-- "

"Make a deal with the devil?" Harry finished in a question, scowling as he saw his second's face light up in astonishment.

"How...?" the Malfoy asked in amazement more than anything.

"Let's just say I dreamt about it," he returned, sighing. "I'm not sure I really want to know, now," Harry admitted, burying his face in the palms of his hands, gritting his teeth. 'W_hat have I gotten myself into_?' he asked himself, closing his eyes, falling back into the darkness of unconsciousness. This time, the dream was more real – more of a memory (as such it was, from Hadrian's lifetime) than an actual nightmare....

He was out in a field, in the middle of the night. The wind was blowing, chilling him despite the robes and the heating charms he'd cast upon himself.

"Why must we--"

"For secrecies' sake," Salazar hushed him, scowling, pulling up the hood of his robes as he walked, arms crossed against his chest, the locket with the snake-like _S_ carved into it gleaming in the light of the silver moon above them.

"_But a cave? In the middle of godforsaken territory?_" he hissed, disapprovingly.

"For what we do is something that God would not approve of," the Slytherin founder echoed, his voice low and weak against the power of the wind.

"You never told me what kind of ritual this was..."

"You'll know soon enough, son."

Such were the days that Hadrian began learning the intimacies of rituals and how they were performed and exorcised in his youth, until the day he turned twenty five, when he was told that he was through with his official training as a wizard and would now be trained in the delicate natures of how he would be a better assistant to his father with his duties. In these latter activities, Hadrian took no pleasure, but saw it as a trade for all that his father had taught him previously in his life. A sort of payment, in a way. It didn't mean that he enjoyed them any more, though.

Hadrian began to resent his father, for the first two years. However, the young man found that it was his father's intention to let his son see how to become a better Dark Lord, more in control of himself, his emotions and his anger. On the fifth year of this particular training, Hadrian saw the importance of being a more rational man when it came to torture and slaughtering villagers and those who stood against him in the quest for power....

Soon, he began to do his own research on powers that intrigued him the greatest – things that set a dangerous fire of passion and lust within him: shadows and the very nature of the darkness of the world, itself. He meant to control such things that were thought to be uncontrollable, to prove himself more than worthy of his father's title as Dark Lord. Perhaps if he were to control these powers, he would persuade his father to let him take over duties that someone as powerful as he was, letting someone else do the dirty work of cleaning up after the both of them.

Of course, Salazar saw his soon becoming so very overwhelmed by seemingly trivial pursuits and was troubled greatly by what passion his son was following them. Needless to say, however, the Dark Lord did nothing to dissuade his son from knowing more about such things – perhaps it would teach the boy not to play with fire, least he get burned....

Waking up, Harry realized that he would soon discover the answer that had been bothering him through his reliving of his own memories. It was a strange sensation, noticing how calm he was, waking up recently. The last few months, he'd been filled with rage and anger at Salazar and some unexplainable forces – now, it was if he woke up satisfied, yet dissatisfied, in a sense. It was something that he couldn't quite explain, yet.

The end of the year was approaching rather quickly, and he hadn't gotten much further with Daphne, much to his own despair, and knew that the summer would soon be a major set back in his plans to reign her in. He made plans with Draco so that Al and he would be able to stay at the Malfoy manor, rather than off to seek for a new place to stay. Harry'd rather not have to explain exactly why he needed a new place to settle in to people who merely knew what the wizarding posts were cycling through on their front covers. A load of gossip, if you asked him; he didn't bother much with the bloody things any more. Reading that boatload of crap wasn't worth his time – he had much better things to do....

* * *

Sorry for the delay -- it's been over a week, yes? Although Spring break should usually produce more work, I suppose it's in my nature to put things off until the last possible day: the last day of Spring Break; the first day of spring, itself.

I did this chapter on my own, surprisingly; but perhaps that's why it took so long to manage to get inspiration for the thing? Hn. Most of this was inspired heavily by _The Darkness_ (comic) which I have fallen in love with for the second time with the release of issue #75. Hense, the name of this particular chapter. Now, while I am considering injecting a bit of this into the future chapters, it will still be of the same morbid quality and will not be a crossover of any sort. Merely, there will be some small influences and some concept ideas, that's all.

Thank you for sticking with me, despite all the crap -- this was much of a transitional chapter than anything else, I feel. A transition to much darker and more morbidness, of course. I may up the rating once again, due to the perhaps more graphic content? What's your take on it, my dear readers? Reviews are greatly appreciated, questions are greatly welcomed and answered.


	13. Concerning the Clarity of Vision

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

_Chapter 13: Concerning the Clarity of Vision_

It was summer.

The air outside of the Malfoy manor looked deadly, just looking through the windows. It was driving Raphael Smith insane. He was currently stuck with Professors Malfoy and Potter, and their sons, Albus and Scorpius. How did he manage to land himself in this situation, one might wonder?

Well, he wasn't all too sure of the answer, himself.

At first, he was just working with the two of them, when his father blocked the floo to the house, writing to Raphael that since it was just his brother and sister at the house, he was keeping it closed, to prevent anyone unwanted coming in. The Slytherin boy knew that there was a way for a floo to be configured so that only certain people could get into the house – it was just that his father wasn't really thinking about the whole thing before he set the whole thing up. So, now, he was going to be stuck at the Malfoy's place for the whole summer, since his parents were off vacationing somewhere even hotter than Europe. Which, as Raphael thought, was a rather insane thing to do, considering that it was the middle of the summer.

He was going into his seventh and final year at Hogwarts in September, which he was somewhat looking forward too. Although he wasn't all too pleased about loosing nearly the entire Slytherin quidditch team, except for two fourth years, which made him the captain next year, giving him the responsibility to have recruit a number of new members, who he'd then have to train. At least there was still a good seeker on the team, still....

"Hey, Smith," Scorpius called to him in a drawl, as was the norm.

Apparently, the boy didn't quite like him, for whatever reason. They were only a year apart, yet why was there such animosity between them? Albus didn't mind him, no matter how out of place he might've seemed in Slytherin. After all, his brother and sister, both, were in Ravenclaw, not Slytherin, which singled him out at home, to begin with. Much as Albus had been singled out by his siblings, who were both in Gryffindor, while Al was in Slytherin – strangely similar, he might note.

On the other hand, Professors Potter and Malfoy didn't mind his presence; in fact, they were very pleased to know that Albus and Scorpius would be getting tutored for their summer homework by a very capable person.

Being bookish in Slytherin, in Raphael's experience, meant that he was to help everyone who was having any sorts of troubles with their homework assignments, no matter how large a volume. Raph resented this enormously – to the point of ditching these meeting for the library, only to get a mouth-full from his peers when he returned to the common room. Only was it when Professor Malfoy became the head of Slytherin that he wasn't retaliated against nearly as much.

"Yeah, Malfoy?" Raphael returned, tucking his shoulder-length auburn hair behind his ear, not looking up from the book he was browsing.

Malfoy delayed his reply, sitting down next to the larger Slytherin on the sofa. "Why aren't you in Ravenclaw, like your siblings?" he asked, genuinely interested.

"I might have told you this before, but apparently, I'm much more crafty than the rest of my family," the Slytherin beater told the blonde, still not even bothering to look up, his lips quirked into a side-ways grin.

Scorpius scowled, folding his arms against his chest, letting out an agitated breath. "That was a rather sarcastic answer, Smith," was all he said.

Raphael caught him rolling his eyes when he finally put the book down, marking his place, setting it on the small table to the side. "I sense that you're wondering why I'm so friendly with Albus Potter, then?" the redhead inquired, raising his eyebrows, pushing up his metal-rimmed glasses on the bridge of his nose as he assessed the blonde boy.

Flushing ever so slightly, Scorpius nodded, scowling even harder, doing his damnedest not to catch Smith's eye. Which, seemed to be a futile endeavour, as the older Slytherin merely chuckled – his voice deep and amused – gaining the Malfoy's gaze.

"I suppose it's because of the likeness of our situations," Raphael explained, all humour gone from his eyes, the smirk now suggesting a certain irony in what he was about to say. "After all, we both have siblings that markedly very much _not_ Slytherin, and both Albus and I have gotten ourselves sorted into the house of snakes. Much to our siblings' and parent's chagrin." There was a short pause, in which, Raphael closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, slowly letting the air from his lips. "At least, Albus has a father that is willing to see reason," he breathed, the smirk now turning into a sharp, bitter downward turn of the corners of his mouth.

Catching the anger in Smith's eyes, Scorpius became rather unsure of what to say – even slightly afraid to move – not wanting to offend the other Slytherin in any manner possible, even accidentally.

"Sorry," Raphael added, shaking the off ferocity in his expression, falling into a much more neutral expression. "I shouldn't take up your time with trivial things as my situation may present." Standing, then straightening his robes, Kaleb Raphael paced to the other side of the room. "Perhaps we should work on that essay you have for Charms? It's not as if there's much better to do with someone like me, anyway, yes?"

For having such a neutral expression and tone of voice, Raphael's words stung Scorpius, causing the Malfoy to take a minute in regathering his thoughts. "It's not as if you're unimportant, Smith – it's just, I don't know you. And the way you come across..." he began, searching for words, frantically, desperately not wanting to cause any more damage than he already had in the past. "You come across as someone who's rather unapproachable, that's all."

Taken aback, the redhead cocked his head, staring at Scorpius, not sure if he heard what he thought he did. "You mean to say that you'd rather associate with such an outcast?" he hissed, eyes narrowing behind the glasses. "Listen to me, Malfoy," the Smith addressed, striding towards Scorpius, looking him directly in the eyes. "The reason that I come across that way is because I've learned my lesson in Slytherin: the other snakes often only wish to prey on you when you show some weakness. And you are very much like many of those who I've become a victim of, and I'd much rather not to repeat the experience, if you don't mind."

And with that, the taller teen left the room, shutting the door soundly behind him.

Scorpius honestly didn't know what to make of that exchange, if he were to be frank.

–

Looking up at the sky, despite how horridly hot it was outside, Raphael felt his tension and unease from his encounter with Malfoy easing away. Slowly closing his eyes as the breeze toyed with his auburn locks, twisting the ends into knots, as he lay in the cool green grass, Raph finally felt as if the rest of the world had disappeared, leaving him alone in this slightly warm (but not as unbearable as he'd first thought) paradise that was the Malfoy's back yard lawn.

It was going to be a long summer. And it'd only been two weeks since the start of it.

After what seemed an eternity, Raphael was only disturbed by the appearance of someone sitting next to him on the grass. First, he thought it was Al, closing his eyes again, but as he mentally processed the image, he realized that it wasn't. Quite the opposite, in a way – it was Professor Potter – which was a shock in and of itself, to say the least.

"_Professor!_," he managed to get out, sitting up quickly, holding himself up with his arms, hair messy and disordered. His clothes were in a similar state as his hair, as was expected, he noted to himself as he began analysing the situation he found himself in.

"Don't be so shocked, Mr. Smith," Harry told him, grinning, his goatee framing the expression classically, although it gave a hint of some darker, deeper intention. And Harry's own longer ebony hair was slowly becoming tangled in the wind, too; his casual clothes already somewhat of a mess to begin with. "Do you mind if I call you by Raphael?"

The composure of the Defence professor was calm and pleasant compared to the other's he'd faced in the past few months, especially his parents. And Scorpius Malfoy, that was for certain.

"Yes, that would be fine, sir."

"It's summer hols," the man complained, frowning rather playfully, which soon turned back into a mischievous grin (concerning which, Raphael had a hard time assessing what the source was) as he continued, "I want you to call me Harry, if you so desire – it wouldn't be very relaxing to have someone call me 'sir' or 'professor' all break, would it?"

Nodding after a few seconds, Raphael replied: "I suppose," a little uncertainly, doing his best to give a smile back to his teacher.

Squinting, Harry moved his focus to the heavens, which were adorned with a brightly lit spinning ball of hydrogen, threatening to burn his eyes and his now very pale skin. (Raphael allotted this to the man's sickness during the year, as well as the continued residence in the castle, tending to keep inside, rather than going outside; covering up in long sleeves and charming his glasses dark when he did manage to find himself outside the school.)

As if this action had been a way of testing the sun, Harry announced: "I think we should retreat to some shade – it's going to get dreadfully hot in a few minutes, Raphael."

Their eyes met – a brilliant dark green behind darkened glasses meeting sapphire blues – for a split-second, followed by the professor's rise from the grass, dusting the loose leaves of grass off of his pants, then striding over to the patio area, which was heavily shaded. Raphael lingered behind a little, dusting himself off a bit slower than his elder, but eventually came under the shade that was provided by a canvas-like material stretched across four metal rods. Sighing, Harry uncharmed his glasses, grinning once more, his gaze trained on Raphael, now.

"Tell me," he started, the green in his eyes darkening rapidly, sending a warning flag off to Raphael, who had first written it off to the different lighting. "How many of your previous professors told you how impressed they were of how much power you're capable of? It's such a waste, trying to hide it with as large of a body as your own. At least, it's futile to hide it from me, Raphael," Harry told him rather off-handedly, the grin turning into a rather creepy smile.

Somehow, the Smith found himself unable to tear his gaze from Harry's, even though he was screaming at himself, knowing that this was a trap of some sort. It was certain that Harry Potter, the saviour of the wizarding world, was somewhat skilled at Legimens, at the very least. Who knew all that the man had a potential of. And it was this person who was praising _him_? Raphael couldn't get his mind around this, especially.

Harry broke the stare, chuckling darkly, his face resetting back into the loose grin from earlier. "You're an interesting young man, Raphael," he voiced, shrugging his shoulders. "Your parents – your father, in particular – doesn't take well to your hobbies, does he? Dark Arts, researching Dark rituals? It's a shame, though," Harry told him, his voice trailing off as he ran his hands through his wavy locks.

As the professor's eyes meandered back onto Raphael, the younger suddenly felt as if he was obligated to say something in response.

"I..." he spluttered, lost for words, although he was so usually composed and assertive, always having ample phrasings to chose from (usually choosing what would sting the most). "I can't understand how you know about this, sir – I mean, Harry."

"That's fine."

It was reassuring to hear Harry's calm, deep voice appealing to him in such a manner. Although Raphael couldn't quite place what was off about the whole thing. This reassurance, however, put him at ease once more, relaxing him physically.

"Only, I don't mean to report you, Raphael. I want to know if you'd be willing to help me with a little project of mine...."

* * *

It's been a while, hasn't it? I've chosen a different perspective, as I couldn't think much of anything for Harry or Draco, so I decided to revisit a seemingly unimportant character from many chapters previous. You didn't forget about Raphael, did you? For those who know me and Raphael well, I've changed him to better suit this fanfiction's purposes.

Also, I now have a rotation for the updates of the different stories I'm writing, in this order: Dark Lord, WAITS, Mirrors and Shadows. There's a poll up on my profile, for those of you interested, by the way.

Thank you very kindly for the reviews and the questions -- again, they're all welcomed and answered. Surprisingly, I did this all on my own. Hah.


	14. Between Knowing and Understanding

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

"_Only, I don't mean to report you, Raphael. I want to know if you'd be willing to help me with a little project of mine...."_

–

_Chapter 14: Between Knowing and Understanding_

Hadrian knew.

And what he knew about Kaleb Raphael Smith was that the boy was altogether different from the rest of his family. More so than the boy thought already, really. Of course, being a Slytherin often went hand-in-hand with powers such as these, but didn't always mean the other.

"What's this... project?" the redhead asked, somewhat doubtful and cautious, especially after what had just happened.

'_Good_,' Hadrian's thoughts echoed, '_the boy should fear me_.'

Turning gleaming dark eyes back to Smith, Hadrian smiled devilishly. "I seek the power of the darkness of the world itself," he whispered, nearly a breath. Draco had warned him of going after this power, as his dream had as well, but it was something he could not easily quell within himself; he'd so nearly had control of it in his previous life, it wouldn't do to loose it once more.

He knew what he had to do, this time.

"The darkness?" Raphael questioned, his face full of mixed emotions that stirred up thoughts and memories within. It was a whirlwind of information that swept him up, making him dizzy with its speed and viciousness. But, at long last, he came to something that might give him a clue to what his professor was getting at. "You mean..." he breathed, slowly opening his eyes to look Harry squarely.

Harry's twisted smile was all that Raphael needed to know.

This was going to take quite a while, needless to say. And it would require a good deal of effort, especially on Harry's part, if he wanted to succeed, that is.

"I want to tell you what you need to know to help my on this endeavour," he began, unravelling the tale of Hadrian and his quest for power as the Dark Lord, as Salazar Slytherin's son, as the one who failed to embrace the Slytherin Code fully and was cursed to be reborn again and again until he finally made good his promise to his father all those years ago.

Considering all that made up Harry in the present, it was astonishing (to Raphael) to find out that the person Harry – or really, Hadrian – was now. He was a man that was baptised in blood of his enemies uncountable times, written to be the most terrible and horrifying of all Dark Lords, including Voldemort, if at all possible. And that man was the saviour?

All of this made Raphael wonder what Hadrian had done to manage to be cursed in such a way – it sounded like the man had certainly followed what he'd promised his father, yet.... There was something that was off about the entire thing. Why was it that it was only the son of Salazar Slytherin that failed, not the others? Perhaps it was something that Hadrian had explicitly promised his father, unknowingly? If that was the case, he'd merely have to ask Salazar for clarification and it could be accomplished.

Then, there was the idea that Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin, who was now Harry Potter, was the Master of Death, as well. It meant that no matter what the opposition attempted, Hadrian was for all purposes concerning humans and mortal capabilities, unable to be killed. And, going by the maddening look that was plastered to Hadrian's face, Raphael was guessing that he was going to be a part of his grand scheme, if it was to be called that.

"What would you like me to do?" he inquired, a bit lost on how he'd be able to help, of all people.

"You house a power that I've never been able to acquire. Apparently, it's something that's passed down or inherited, not something that you can suddenly get or practice, just by learning and doing the motions," Harry explained, very interested in Raphael once more. "_You've a Necromancer, Kaleb Raphael Smith_," he breathed, the lust and longing clear in his deep, twisted voice.

Although Raphael wasn't the type to faint, this was his cue to do just that.... And the darkness surrounded him.

–

Unbeknownst to Raphael, Hadrian was well in charge of Raphael's kind, as he was the Master of Death, and Necromancers were in charge of raising the dead souls and all that encompassed. The young Necromancer knew nothing of his powers – or very little, at the least – and Hadrian would use that very well to his advantage. After all, Necromancers were hard to find, in the days when such things were outlawed by the Ministry and would be treated as nothing more than a nuisance.

Normally, in fact, Necromancers were found out by the strange way that things tended to die around them – nearly anything that they touched (skin contact) for longer than a minute, it was estimated. At first, when they were younger (around three to five years of age), it would merely be small plants and insects, but by the time they turned twenty, a Necromancer, trained well in the Arts, would be capable of killing a person with just a touch. Of course, that was the curse of being such a thing, but it was usually by the age of eight or nine that coincidences were no longer mistakes that happened at suspicious times, but it was often found out by the parents, at least, that their child was indeed a Necromancer. That was when the Ministry was called to "take care" of the "evil thing" that was once their child.

There was a time when Necromancers were feared. It was for a well-based reason, despite many Dark Arts practitioner's protests: Necromancers could not stand each other and would use every method in the book to get rid of each other, often resulting in a massive amount of deaths in a concentrated area of the country that was plagued by two or more of these Death Art practitioners. Those times are long past, but the fear of the Necromancers remains, as the birth of a seemingly innocent child that slowly begins showing it's powers surfaces, only to be immediately erased by the Ministry's employees.

Raphael, however, was different from the others, because he was raised from an early age not to associate with such things that would make him any less "manly". He was to only touch his toys, not flowers, or other such things in nature that were more feminine and girlie, respectively. Therefore, the initial signs that would have been displayed in his younger years were avoided and he still managed to stay alive and go on with his life – and was turning seventeen just before September this year. Of course, incidents were not altogether avoided, but were written off as strange or coincidence, as he hadn't been found out as a smaller child.

And now, as there was a law regarding the age at which the Ministry could dispose of such a problem, Raphael was in the clear (he had been since he turned thirteen) to practice his Arts without the fear of being put to death by the wizarding government of England.

–

Raphael groaned, rubbing the back of his head, which throbbed painfully when he shifted himself on the bed. Wait. How did he manage to wind up in a bed to begin with?

"Hey," a disjointed voice greeted him, softly, thankfully.

As he sat up, gritting his teeth against the pain, Raphael grouped for his glasses, finding them after a few seconds searching, then replacing them on his face. "Al," he realized, still waking up and still aching from hitting his head. He couldn't remember what he hit it against, though – that would come for later.

"Dad said that you fainted. Too much sun, or something," the younger Slytherin told his friend, smiling lightly, a bit shy and awkward in the current situation.

"Sun?" Raphael questioned, confused, forgetting his pains. "I was sitting in the shade when I fainted – your father was talking to me about the power of the darkness and how Hadrian...." He stopped, realizing that he was losing the boy. Looking closer at Albus, Raphael came to guess at the reason why he'd lost his fellow Slytherin. "Do you know who Hadrian Xanthus is, Al?"

"Other than that's what Salazar calls my dad (he calls him Hadrian, for whatever reason) and that Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin is Salazar's son, who was supposedly the most terrible Dark Lord to date," Al related to Raphael, raising his eyebrows at his friend. "Why?"

"You don't know?" the redhead asked, shocked that Al didn't know – or perhaps Harry was keeping his son ignorant of the whole thing? But, why tell him? ...That's right: he's a Necromancer. However strange and outlandish that may sound, it felt right to Raphael, no matter how he wanted to reject it and write it off to some strange dream he had because of the sun warping his brain.

But, if Harry didn't wish to disclose this information that was rather sensitive to his own son, Raphael would have to respect such a decision, despite how backwards that sounded to him. There was likely a good reason behind this, he knew, at least, with Hadrian. Best leave such things alone, for now.

"Never mind," Raphael waved off, grinning at Al after a few seconds. He'd rather not talk to Al about Scorpius – after all, Scorpius was Al's best friend. They were nearly attached at the hip, according to a number of people at school. Sighing, he got out of the bed, stretching, not looking at Al, who was watching him a little too intently, reminding Raph much of his father. "Did you need help on that Runes homework?"

"Er, yeah," Albus confessed. "I really don't get what that old German guy wants from us, honestly."

–

"You're pitiful," Hadrian spat, his eyes flashing red in his anger over Raphael's failure to kill the rat.

"It's not as if I know what to do," he retorted, scowling, wanting to just crush the thing with his bare hands – it's not as if he couldn't do that. It was supposed to come with being a Necromancer, according to Harry... Hadrian, whoever it was any more. Only when the wiggling thing in his hand went strangely still did he look back at it, inspecting it. "Dear Merlin, I am a Necromancer..." Raphael muttered after double checking to see if the rat was dead.

"And I was beginning to worry," came the sarcastic reply from a few metres away. "I suppose you did really kill it, didn't you? Feel anything?"

"Just..." Raphael thought, attempting to recall what exactly it was he felt when the live animal went still in his hand. "Nothingness? I'm not really sure about it, yet."

"Then, try again!" Hadrian commanded, tossing the Slytherin beater another scrawny rat. "This time, concentrate on what you're doing, please."

"Yes, sir," Raphael agreed, holding the rat tightly, but not too tightly in his large hand, staring at it for a while. He easily got tired of watching the thing try to escape, so he closed his eyes, concentrating on the power he'd felt so vaguely just a few minutes ago.

And with a great rush within him, Raphael felt the rat go still, opening his eyes quickly to verify what he'd just felt was his previously dormant Necromancy powers. "Whoa," he breathed, amazed by the new experience.

"Exactly – feels quite good, yes? That's why people are afraid of Necromancers, Raphael – they fear their power, their potential, their love for their Art," Hadrian taught the young man, grinning deviously all the while. "You'll be a wonderful Necromancer, Raphael – better than the ones I knew as Hadrian Slytherin, indeed."

--

Great thanks goes to Moogle (Boogum) on this one, who's the creator of Raphael's brother, Ifrin Smith -- who will be appearing later, when school starts again -- for the help on some parts of this story; when I got stuck, she gave me splendid ideas. Also, thanks to my reviewers and questioners!

As always, reviews are greatly appreciated and questions will be welcomed and answered to the best of my ability. Thank you again.


	15. Consequences of Telling the Truth

**Harry Potter: Dark Lord, Loving Father**

_Hadrian taught the young man, grinning deviously all the while. "You'll be a wonderful Necromancer, Raphael – better than the ones I knew as Hadrian Slytherin, indeed."_

–

_Chapter 15: Consequences of Telling the Truth_

There was something that was bothering him; it wasn't all that pleasant, either. It was an aura, of sorts that was weighing down on him, but not completely.

"Maybe it's guilt," Draco accused over breakfast, nursing his cup of black tea.

"That's not the word I was looking for, Malfoy," Hadrian sneered in response, stabbing his eggs with his fork, formerly brilliant Killing Curse-green eyes now a perpetual stormy emerald, oft becoming darker in his more aggressive moods. "It's only since Raphael's arrival, I think – well, since I started training him, perhaps."

"Death aura, then," he drawled, very unenthusiastic, raising an eyebrow at his Lord's violent temper. Days like these didn't usually spell out good things for his future. Perhaps he should consult Smith for a reading. On second thought, it wasn't as if the boy knew much more than how to kill some animals with his Necromancy powers at the moment, outside of the other Dark Arts he knew, which wasn't going to be much help, in that area.

"I suppose," Hadrian grumbled, finishing his breakfast in silence.

The silence was only broken by the arrival of Raphael Smith, himself, who was dressed in all black, unlike his normal attire, seeming much more subdued than previously. "Good morning," he greeted, rather quietly, then taking a seat by Harry.

"Good morning, Raphael," Harry returned, his expression brightening by a fraction. He couldn't help but notice the avoidance of the redhead's eyes. Which, to Harry, was rather intriguing, to say the least. "Tell me," he commanded, knowing that something was off.

"I had a nightmare," he confessed, bowing his head down as he put some food on his pate. Eventually, however, Raphael raised his gaze to meet his professor's. "It was horrifying, to be honest, sir."

Hadrian did have a good deal of experience with those sorts of things, truth be told, after the lifetimes' worth of memories coming back to him in the form of dreams every night that year. Of course, this was in addition to the other strange nightmares he'd been experiencing the last few months.

"It's to be expected, Raphael. It's been... three weeks since we started, has it not?"

"Yes."

"There's quite a lot you still need to learn, yet, and we've only just begun. Shall we resume our lessons in an hour, after breakfast is taken care of and settled?" It wasn't really much of a question, coming from Hadrian, but he was attempting to be polite, at least, in front of Draco. After all, he didn't want the blonde to think that he was going to order just anyone around – didn't want his fellow teacher to think he wasn't special or anything, right?

Nodding, Raphael ate his breakfast next to Harry, focusing on just that, not the Malfoy that was sitting across from him, or the man that radiated power and confidence adjacent to him. Only after a sufficient length of silence (which followed Draco leaving the room to work on his teaching schedule for Potions the next school year for all the classes), the Slytherin boy finally spoke up: "If you don't mind, Harry, I was wondering if you would explain to me why you've kept Albus out of this entire thing, although you've told me – who's not even remotely considered a part of the family."

"I don't want Albus to get hurt, as I did in my youth and inexperience," Harry whispered, quickly correcting himself, "as Hadrian, I mean."

The two's eyes met once again, understanding dawning upon Raphael for a second – and the feeling vanished as soon as it came. What had he seen in those troubled, tortured eyes that belonged to the man who was once the only hope of the wizarding world who had likely become its greatest fear behind the scenes?

"He's my son and I don't want him exposed to all of this at such an early age. After all, at least he won't have to deal with these responsibilities until I deem it to be an appropriate time to do such," he concluded, grinning slightly, not much emotion behind it, making his expression appear empty and hollow.

"I understand," Raphael started, grasping for words once again – it was becoming something that he faced often when in Harry's presence, especially when Hadrian's force made him very well-known in Harry. "But, those who are faced with their destiny too late in their life, before the end of the period in which they're impressionable in the slightest sense of the word, they reject it. Aren't you afraid that protecting Albus in such a way might end up damaging him? It might cause him to oppose you and what you're trying to do, and as he's more of you heir than James is-"

"_Silence!_" Hadrian hissed, his deep voice rough at the edges as he issued the order to the younger man. "_You know nothing of what Albus is like_," he continued in equally dangerous tones, now standing, pointing at Raphael, looking very threatening.

"What about me?" came Albus' voice from the other side of the room.

In their argument, the young Potter had come down to eat his breakfast, taking the other two by surprise.

"Al, what are you doing down so early?" Harry asked, Hadrian quickly and nearly completely vanishing from him, aura as well, warming the room a few degrees.

"I couldn't sleep, really. Some weird dream – Mum, er..." Albus cut himself off, gauging his father's reaction, trying to decide if the subject was kosher with him, as not to tread on any sensitive nerves, so to say. Finding that speaking of Ginny wasn't nearly as sensitive a topic as it had been before, Albus continued on, "Well, she came here and came to take be away, saying something about you breaking a promise or something. I remember her talking about you making the news for being under suspicion of the practising of Dark Arts to such a degree that you were to go to trial or whatever.

"It was just a dream, though," Al wrote off shrugging. "Although it was really kind of weird in the sense that it felt so bloody _real_...."

Followed by some contemplation, Harry sighed, then hugged his son tightly. "Don't worry – I won't let something like that happen. I mean, really, the Ministry accusing the Hero of being a Dark Lord or something? That's rather silly, isn't it?"

"Dad," Al replied, his tones warning.

"What's wrong?" the elder Potter questioned, eyebrows knitting together, his pulse beginning to accelerate, praying to Merlin that his hands weren't shaking all that horribly. But what on earth was he so nervous about? If his son found out, that meant that his son was a true Slytherin and deserved to be his heir... but what that said about him was he wasn't entirely too careful as he should have been if he was indeed found out.

"I just can't help but thing that there's something up that you're not telling me about," he admitted, smiling a little warily at his father, his own green eyes glowing with a repressed emotion. "After all, Raphael's been with you for three weeks when he's not studying with us, and he didn't say anything about needing any help in Defence."

Overwhelming silence filled the room.

So great was the silence, Harry could now hear the rapid pounding of his heart against the wall of his chest as he stared at his son. There was no turning back from this, was there? Oh, how he wanted to tell Albus that he shouldn't worry about it, to go on being a teenager and doing things with Scorpius and his other friends that he always did. He didn't want his son's innocence to be forever ruined as his had – in both of his lives, to be exact – so abruptly, with nearly no warning beforehand.

"You know of the Slytherin Code, don't you, Albus?" Harry (...or could it be Hadrian? He wasn't all too sure of who he was, exactly, at the moment) inquired, his voice soft and quivering with nervousness. "And how we're the closest remaining wizarding family in the Slytherin line?"

Albus affirmed these facts with the nod of his head, slowly, wondering what his father was trying to tell him. It was all so confusing, really.... what'd happened? Was this still a dream and he was still sleeping in his bed, comfortably? That seemed like the most likely explanation for the time being.

"Well," he paused, gathering his bearings. "I'm the next Dark Lord, Albus, and you'll be the one to follow me – that's what it all means. You've met Salazar Slytherin – he was a Dark Lord – and so was his son. His son, Hadrian Xanthus Slytherin-" this is were it became tough for Harry to continue at all, his hands and voice was shaking so badly that he appeared as if he was going to either break down in sobs or have a seizure of sorts. And he certainly felt like it, too. He'd never remembered being so afraid of his own son before.

"You're Hadrian, aren't you?" Al finished for him, putting the pieces together for himself. He'd thought it to be rather fishy when Raphael had tried to explain what'd happened to him a few weeks before. Now, Al knew. At least, he knew what he believed he needed to know to start understanding things. "I think I kind of knew, unconsciously, when you'd gotten sick after you'd tried to summon him. You can't summon a soul with the ring that's alive."

Harry breathed. His nerves calmed, albeit slowly, but they calmed, his heart slowed and his vision cleared. When he put himself almost completely back together, he started laughing lightly, soon turning into a roaring laugh that made both students in the room watch him cautiously. At last, Harry stopped, breathing deeply once more, wiping his face with his sleeve, then sitting back down in his chair, looking to Raphael first, then back to his son.

"I won't let your dream happen, Al, my dear son – for your sake, I won't let her take you away from me," he whispered, pulling Albus into his arms for a tight hug. "I'll be your father, I'll keep you with me, no matter what. I love you so much, Al..."

"Thanks, Dad, but I already knew _that_ – I love you too, Dad," the smaller Potter replied, smiling freely. He'd quite missed this close feeling between him and his father – it'd been at least a year or so since he'd felt so in-touch with his dad, it calmed him and reassured him that Harry really wouldn't let such a thing as he'd dreamt come to pass.

–

A while after telling Albus about everything the boy needed to know, answering the man questions that the young Slytherin had, Harry turned to Raphael, who had been sitting quietly the entire time, doing his best not to impose or interrupt them.

Raphael knew what Harry was asking of him, and he knew what he needed to do: he was to be the one that told Al about being a Necromancer. There wasn't going to be any way around it. Besides, how would it be explained that he knew about the whole thing before Al had, if he didn't?

"Albus," he started, trying to break this as easily as he could. Raphael didn't want to make Albus scared of him, as he was the only person, really, outside of his brother, Ifrin, that he was close to and felt he was friends with, even if it wasn't as tightly knit as Scorpius and Al's friendship. "I don't know any other way of telling you this, but I'm not an average wizard. I suppose that I never have been – I just didn't know it until a few weeks ago."

More silence filled the room and Al stared at Raphael expectantly, and Harry watched as he felt the tension in the room evaporate as the elder teen finally pulled himself together enough to tell his friend the truth:

"Al, I'm a Necromancer."

"Really?" the Potter replied, his voice soft but rather neutral in tone – not even Harry could tell if his son was in awe or in shock.

"Yeah," Raphael agreed, nodding his head, beginning to get a bit nervous with Al's reaction.

"That's so totally awesome!" he exclaimed, grinning foolishly, laughing a little.

It took a bit for Raphael to realise what had just happened. When he did, he returned the grin, although not so foolish of one as Al's, and added, "You're father's the one who's teaching me to control and use my powers as a Necromancer, so, staying over here for the summer hols didn't turn out so bad, I suppose."

"Much agreed, man," Albus cheered, sniggering. "I mean, who was to think that such a person like you, Raph, would be a Necromancer? I most certainly wasn't expecting it."

"And that's why he's been able to avoid the Ministry's attention, thank Merlin," Harry put in, smiling passively, relaxing in his chair at the table. "But, the time has come for us to get back to training. You may come if you like, but Scorpius would be at a loss for a friend."

Nodding, Albus thought about what he'd do... Scorpius would likely be angry with him for a week if he ditched him even for just a few hours. Really, that man didn't know when to let go of a grudge, in Al's opinion. He'd pound some sense into Scorpius afterwards, he decided, and let him learn his lesson for trying to take advantage of Raphael. It wasn't as if the three of them weren't going to be at the Malfoy manor all summer, and Al needed Scorpius to see that truth and force him to learn how to deal with the consequences.

------

Well, as this is the third chapter in a row, in two days straight, I think it might be best if I backed off and wrote more for WAITS and Mirrors and Shadows. After all, did I not promise that I would do a rotation? Eh, well, if I do chapters of the same thing, in the appropriate order, does that count? Anyway, there's a poll up for those interested on my profile page. It's just something that I'm curious about and it won't impact anything for updates or anything.

Thanks go to Moogle (Boogum) once more for the first word that got me started and who also chose the initial prospective out of a lotto I made and for additional things that I've already forgotten about (Oh! And for allowing me to use Raphael's brother, Ifrin, who is her character). Other thanks go to my loyal readers and to those who aren't ashamed of what they think and write a review!

Be daring: write a review, leave a comment, question, or whatever floats your boat!! And I'll answer and questions (other than the text of the Slytherin Code; sorry) directed my way to the best of my ability. I hope that you've enjoyed this chapter.


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